


Something else

by Lost_in_thoughts



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Sexual Content, Snark, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_in_thoughts/pseuds/Lost_in_thoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lambert comes to Oxenfurt he isn't exactly happy. He despises the little town, its academy, the noise in the streets and in the taverns. As a strange girl bumps into him he thinks it couldn't get any worse. When he meets that girl again he knows that he was wrong. But eventually he has to wonder if there may be something else to her than her odd appearance and her determination to annoy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akhuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akhuna/gifts).



> Thanks to a group of ever supporting Witcher fans on tumblr and the lovely akhuna in particular, I felt encouraged enough to tell this little story.

Lambert wrinkled his nose while he cut off the Rotfiend’s head. The monster reeked disgustingly, even more so now that it was dead. But without its head there wouldn’t be any coins for him. He really looked forward to the reeve’s face when he’d slam that head on his table. This was the only delight he could find in this situation.

While putting the head in a bag and binding it to his saddlebag, he recalled the fight. Not only had this Rotfiend been one of the ugliest he had ever seen, it had been damn quick and agile as well. But Lambert had been a Witcher long enough to know some helpful moves. An unexpected parade here, a graceful riposte there and he eventually managed to kill it.

His horse neighed when he mounted it. “I know Buddy, I’m stinking. But I promise you a nice stable and some treats if you stop whining now.” The chestnut stud neighed again before breaking into a trot.

The Reeve’s face had exceeded Lambert’s expectations. He nearly vomited while seeing the monster’s head. He even gave the Witcher some extra coins for Lambert’s promise to leave the village instantly. Fair enough for him. While riding through the woods near the Pontar, Lambert considered his next destination. He needed a smith as well as some distraction, which meant a decent dinner, some strong alcohol and maybe a young and beautiful girl to begin with. He took a moment to decide whether he should go to Nowigrad or Oxenfurt. He disliked both cities. Oxenfurt was closer and the alcohol there was better and cheaper as well. The town’s downside was its university. Not only were there loud and unspeakably merry students but a heap of visitors thinking that they’d get any more intelligent while breathing some university-filled air.

He sighed. He hated big crowds, hated how people looked at him, how they whispered behind his back. “Witcher” , they said it as if it was something horrible, as if it weren’t men like him making sure that those disgusted people could sleep safely in their beds and go on with their stupid, ever so neatly composed lives. He could have had imagined better things to do with his life then killing monsters and getting stared at as well. But unfortunately he hadn’t been allowed to choose for himself. Instead he had been taken from his mother and brought to that cold castle where he was exposed to torture and misery. He had hated this new “home” even more than his old one, hated the Witchers who performed the Trial of Grasses on him even more than his own, abusive father.

He sighed again and patted his horse on the back. He had better things to do then thinking about his messed childhood. He observed the woods around him. No signs of trouble. No bandits on the street, either. So it was only him, his stud and the nearly endless road to Oxenfurt. Lambert looked down and cursed. This fucking Rotfiend actually managed to make some ugly slashes to his fairly new leather trousers. They weren’t really broken, but he liked his clothes neatly. Maybe he could mend this himself or otherwise he had to rely on a talented tailor in town.

It was two hours before dusk when he finally reached the gates of Oxenfurt. The town greeted him with an abominable ado. Lambert sighed. He hated noise. After dismounting his horse he cleared his way to a little park behind the town square. He used the place to orientate and search for an inn when he suddenly felt someone crushing into him, followed by a tearing noise.

_Great. Fucking great. One moment off guard and some idiot tries to assassinate me._

When he turned to see what bumped into him he looked at a bunch of dirty blond hair belonging to a girl wearing a green coat, blue trousers and a bag with a goose in it. Lambert couldn’t quite comprehend that sight. She looked like a jester. With a goose. No sane person would carry a goose around. But maybe things were different in Oxenfurt. Or there weren’t any sane people here at all. He stared at her hostilely while she tried to get her balance back. When she finally looked up to him she just spotted a smile, said “I’m sorry but I’m late for my lecture”, turned around and ran away.

Lambert watched her for some moments with his mouth open before he looked down. Fucking great. The tearing noise had been his trousers. There was a long crack across his left thigh. No tailor in the world could mend this anymore, no matter how talented he was. This imbecile goose-jester-girl had destroyed his trousers. They had been ridiculously expensive and they were comfortable and she had destroyed them in a heartbeat. He fumed. If he ever saw her again he would kill her. Or her fucking goose, after all he liked poultry. That thought reminded him of the nagging feeling in his stomach. He turned around and saw an inn sign some streets away. He pulled at his horse’s bridle to lead it into the right direction.

Oxenfurt would definitely not become Lambert’s new favourite place to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Finding an accommodation had been a rather senseless endeavor so far. The inn he had initially visited had rejected him. Since then he had asked at four other places – without success either. The innkeepers assured him that all rooms were taken because of a summer fair and how terribly sorry they were about that. One even told him how much he appreciated the work of witchers, babbling about the superb ballads he had heard about the White Wolf of Rivia’s brave deeds. Lambert had felt the urgent need to bang the man’s head on the counter, but had pulled himself together eventually. Killing an innkeeper wouldn’t raise his chances to get a room anywhere else in this crazy town.

 _The White Wolf of Rivia. Geralt the Great._ Geralt who had told him time and time again how _lovely_ Oxenfurt was. This town was everything but lovely. Well, someone with a fondness for maniacs could like Oxenfurt indeed - and given Geralt’s taste in women he definitely belonged to that category.

But not only his search for an accommodation had been in vain so far, he couldn’t even manage to find an armorer or at least a merchant to purchase new trousers.  _Fucking great._ He roamed through the still crowded streets in search of another inn. This would be the last one where he’d chance his luck. He’d rather sleep on the grass in the town’s outskirts than begging for a room one more time.

Finally he spotted a little tavern near the university’s walls. The fuss inside was so loud that it drowned out the sounds of his horse’s hooves on the cobbled paving. He took some deep breaths to calm down enough not to throw anything at the first person he saw, led his horse to the stables, patting him on the back and telling him to wait and be a good boy, before entering the inn.

It smelled of beer, food and sweat. A quick glance around showed that the inn was crowded, only two tables in the middle of the taproom were currently empty. He preferred sitting in dark niches, but given his current options he wasn’t in a position to be picky. The guests sitting on the other tables were without exception young, students by the look of it, showing a nauseating jolly attitude . Some of them were drinking, some were playing dice and some young men – or rather stupid boys pretending to be grown men- had girls on their laps and tried to get in their bodices. Lambert wanted to vomit. Was that a whorehouse or an inn?

He sighed deeply and went to the counter. The innkeeper was a fat man with greasy hair and, if possible, even greasier skin. He stared at Lambert with an utterly disgusted expression, clenching his fists.

 _Fine, lard ass, I can play this game too._ Lambert stared back until the other one lowered his gaze. At least one thing going as he wanted it to.

“I need a room and something to eat. A lodging for my horse as well.”

“I’m terribly sorry…” the fat man began, not sounding sorry at all.

“Oh, you WILL be terribly sorry if you won’t give me a room.” Lambert snarled, showing the hint of a dangerous smile.

The innkeeper wrinkled his forehead, took a cloth and slowly began to rub it over the counter. If he did this to clean the wood or to annoy Lambert, the witcher wasn’t entirely sure. “Threat as much as you like, Master Witcher, but I don’t have no room for you. Summer Fair, y’know? No need for a witcher here anyway. Oxenfurt’s a decent town.”

Lambert darted him a deadly glance. “A decent town? Fuck that, it’s a madhouse. A stinking and loud one.”

The fat man shrugged and grinned, showing an expressive number of missing teeth.

_If he continues like that I could give him a helping hand in losing his remaining teeth. He wouldn’t have to bother with dental care anymore. If he had ever cared about that anyway._

“You’re welcome to leave this stinking madhouse. Take your ugly mutant face and taint the air elsewhere.”

Grinning his vilest grin possible, Lambert pushed his elbows on the counter and moved his face so close to the innkeeper that he could smell his sour breath.

_No, definitely no interest in dental care._

“Good man, as you’ve noticed so incisively, I’m a mutant. And you don’t want to anger a mutant with two swords on his back. Extremely sharp swords by the way. Wouldn’t end well for you. Give me a room, I’ll pay beforehand and promise to be a commendable guest. Extra money if you’ll help my stud to a nice ration of oat and fresh water. Agreed?”

Before the fat man could answer, the door swung open and a girl entered the taproom. As fate would have it was the lunatic goose-jester-girl that had ran into Lambert some hours before.

_And here I thought that things couldn’t get any worse._


	3. Chapter 3

His arms still on the counter, Lambert had to turn his head into an uncomfortable position to eye her. Her hair fell down to her waist, the messy waves reminding him of a lion's mane. If that was for lack of combing or if her hair was just unruly he couldn' tell. She still wore that hideous combination of a brown coat with blue trousers and laced red boots. Her leather bag dangled from her shoulder just as it had in the afternoon, but the goose was missing.

 _No poultry for dinner then. What a shame_.

His rage against the innkeeper temporarily forgotten, he stood up and glared at her: “You.”

A smile flashed over her face when she recognized Lambert. “Hello.” She paid him no further attention but turned to the innkeeper. “Problems, Evald?”

The fat man snorted and nodded in Lambert’s direction. “This _witcher_ wants a room.”

The girl shrugged. “This being an inn, his request seems rather reasonable.”

“I don’t have no room for a witcher.”

“You’re full?”

“Yes…well, almost. Y’know, summer fair. Rumours are that Master Dandelion will attend and he’ll need a room.”

The girl raised her forehead, looked at the innkeeper, then at Lambert. After another quick smile in his direction, she faced the innkeeper again. “Dandelion, hm? He won’t need that room.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”, the fat man snarled.

Lambert had decided to keep silent and watch this spectacle. That girl could prove herself helpful. Well, given what she had done earlier that day that was the least she could do, but still, she seemed to make for some entertainment.

“Well”, the girl grinned while drumming her fingers on the counter, “because he has private rooms in the university. Plus there are quite a few girls in this town that would pay _him_ for sleeping in their beds. Listen, Evald. This man here”, she pointed to Lambert, a gesture he found incredibly rude, “will, unlike Dandelion, pay for a room.”

“Listen, wise girl, witchers are bad publicity.”

The lass sighed, rummaged through her bag and pulled out a parchment which she handed to Lambert without doing so much as glancing at him.

This was definitely the height of cheek but his curiosity outweighed his desire to yell at her, so he read the notice while listening with half an ear to the ongoing conversation. After all he still wanted to know what this weird wench intended.

“Dead people near the sewers during a summer fair? Even worse publicity. And a sad loss to your revenues. Dead guests usually don’t pay anymore.”

The innkeeper eyed Lambert suspiciously while he let her words sink in. “Listen, mutant. You won’t do anything funny, no?”

“I’ll be the most exemplary guest you’ve ever had.” He said with a grin that promised otherwise.

“And after doing whatever you do with whatever there is in the sewers you’ll leave?”

“Instantly. On my honour as a mutant.” He had never declared to take care of anything, but if killing some measly monsters in a sewer got him a room, he wouldn’t object.

The staring between the two men was interrupted by the girl clapping her hands. “Wonderful. Evald, saving the mankind all day can be quite exhausting, I guess. Your new guest will be hungry.”

“You scholars are a pain in the ass, y’know? One funny thing from you or from that mutant and I’ll throw both of you out.”

The girl shrugged, smiling. “Sounds just.” She gave Lambert a wink before she made her way through the taproom and sat down at one of the empty tables, darting him an inviting look.

He should not have put up with this bullshit, that much he knew, but when he heard the innkeeper say “Women these days take way too much liberties” he thought that when having to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea he could at least choose the option with tits.

“My stud’s in the stable. He likes oats and carrots. What he doesn’t like is to go hungry. If you’d be so nice to take care of him I’d be eternally grateful.” With a last deadly gaze towards the fat man Lambert left the counter and sat down towards the strange girl who owed him some answers and new trousers.


	4. Chapter 4

“I want an explanation. A bloody good one,” he snarled as he had hardly sat down. She looked at him, surprised. He noticed her eyes were wide and round, almost doll-like, the colour a strange mixture of green and brown.

_Much like the last swamp I crossed._

Before she could open her mouth to come up with an answer, Lambert heard a low, sonorous voice from the table behind them.

“Vica, coming over?”  The baritone belonged to a young man, presumably about the same age as the goose girl, who shook her head at the request.

“Not tonight.”

The lad, wearing an unbelievably ludicrous heron feather on top of an even more atrocious beret made of green velvet, eyed the witcher suspiciously. “Thought your last project was about geese? Doing research on mutants now?”

Lambert wanted to say something snarky but the girl was quicker. “You’d be better off doing some research on manners, Leo.”

“Don’t be so prickly, Vica, otherwise you’ll have to share the table with guys like him for the rest of your life. Real men like well-behaved girls.”

Lambert looked at the fellow, his eyes dangerously narrowed. “How would you know? You’re further away from being a real man than any other creature walking this earth.”

The guy raised his hands. “No offense, witcher.”

“It’s not on you to decide if I’m offended or not. I could squish you in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but your dumb little hat.” Before he could specify just what he would do to squish him, a young servant girl  placed a bowl with steaming stew, a plate with bread, cheese and scrambled eggs and two mugs with foamy beer in front of them. “Enjoy your meal, Master Witcher,” she muttered, ambitious of not looking at him, “and the innkeeper…well…”

“Go on, kid.” He encouraged her while taking a deep gulp of his beer.

“He saw how you talked to another guest…and told me to remind you that… you’re always welcome to leave this inn.” She eagerly eyed her apron.

“It’s alright, Marie. Tell him that everything’s tame and under control,” his unwanted table mate calmed the servant down.  She nodded and went away. Lambert searched for the innkeeper, who glared at him. The witcher waved at the fat man and gave him the vilest smile he could. Meanwhile, the silly beret boy had turned around and was now playing cards, probably in an attempt not to get killed by the witcher.

“Under control, huh? Looking at you there’s nothing under control. You even managed to lose your goose.”

She looked at him, smiling, exposing little dimples and a small gap between her upper front teeth. Well, this was strange. The usual reaction from people looking a witcher right in the face, noticing the cat-like eyes and the scars, was disgust, aversion or, even worse, compassion, but this apparently crazy girl showed nothing but interest and kindness. He didn’t know what to make of her, and to be honest, he didn’t want to. He wanted her to give him the money she owed him for a pair of new trousers and hoped to get rid of her immediately afterwards.

“Troublemaker? He isn’t lost. He’s at home.”

“You give names to your meals? You’re even crazier than I’ve thought.” He inspected his stew. It was quite watery, but given the innkeeper, he hadn’t expected anything else. At least the beer was edible.

“Troublemaker is no meal, he is my pet.”

_Great. A crazy girl not minding scars and with an abstruse love for animals. The perfect girl for Eskel. Maybe I should write him a letter._

“Yeah, whatever. Listen. What kind of bullshit is that here? I mean, you look and behave totally bizarre and the beret guy over there is obviously just as crazy as you. Is that some kind of jester club you’re in?”

She shook her head, causing some streaks of her unruly hair to fall into her eyes. She simply blew them away. “We’re students.”

“Sure. Or you could be some inmates of an asylum, considering your clothing.”

He tried the eggs. Salty, but better than expected.

She shook her head again. There was still no sign of annoyance on her face. She simply sat there and looked him straight in the eye. He did the same, in a fruitless try to intimidate her.

 An oval face, the skin fair with a reddish undertone. Probably been in the sun for too long. Her lightly turned-up nose was covered in freckles. She was biting her pale lips and there was a small scar across her chin. She had long fingers, the tips dirty from ink and different colours, drumming lightly on the table. She wasn’t exactly ugly, but way to girlish and slender for his taste. He liked his women dark-haired, with ample humps and well-filled purses.

 Not that he would ever consider doing anything with that girl except insulting her, but well, had she been more of his type, this evening could have taken a turn for the better. But given the course of his stay that kind of luck had been presumably too much to ask.

“Leo studies poetry, I’m from the faculty of nature history.”

“But you’re a girl.”

“And you’re a good observer.” She grinned boldly.

Lambert narrowed his eyes but this didn’t seem to impress her. “Girls shouldn’t study.”

“Why not?” She sounded genuinely interested.

“Because girls have no brains. That is known.”

That made her chuckle. “Is it? Well, there are quite a few girls at the university having much bigger brains than the boys.”

“If all boys there are like your friend with the silly hat I could almost believe this.”

She took another sip from her mug. “Leo is not my friend. Well, not really. His grades aren’t that good, so I sometimes help him with his homework.”

“What an angel you are.” He tried to sound as sarcastically as he could, but she just shrugged.

“He pays for it.”

“In kind?”

“No, in coin, because that’s what you need to buy things in this town,”  she smirked.

“Careful, wench. Don’t play the clever one.”

“My name’s Vica. And your question was, well, quite silly.”

“Couldn’t care less about the name of a lunatic. And I asked that question in particular because you destroyed my trousers at our first encounter. So you owe me a new pair.”

With a quick move she came to her feet and made her way over to his side of the table. Without asking for permission she sat down beside him and inspected his thigh. As she intended to touch him, he took her hand and pushed it away.

“Never heard of the concept of personal space? I understand that the morals in this town are quite loose, but let me tell you this: You can’t just go and touch strangers. Unless you are a whore.”

She sighed and raised her hands in a dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel the structure of the leather. The damage doesn’t seem to be that bad, really. Why don’t you try mending it yourself? You probably don’t buy new armor with every little tear or stain.”

The lass with the strange name started to irritate him up to an unacceptable degree.

“’Course not. But this tear in particular is different. It’ll just look gross if I mend it. That’s been some fine leather and now it’s destroyed. That’s solely your fault.”  
“Well, who would have thought that a witcher could be this vain?”

“I am not vain. I just value my clothing. Something that can’t be said of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You look ridiculous. No sane person would combine three different colors, unless you want to imitate a peacock. In which case your sanity would be highly debatable.”

“I actually like peacocks”, she flashed him another smile, “but back to your high-valued trousers. You could stitch the tear up and then hide it with a strap.”

“A what?” Any lingering doubt about her mental condition had vanished with her last comment. This girl was completely mad.

“A strap,” she stated, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Well, given her style of clothing, it probably was, “with a nice buckle. Hides the stitches and adds greatly to your daring appeal.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No. ‘Twas just a guess.”  She shrugged while tapping her feet against the floor. This girl seemed to be quite tireless. Another thing that bugged him about her.

“A bloody dim-witted one. “ Lambert grunted. “If you want me not to get even angrier at you, go to your seat, drink your fucking beer and stop being annoying.”

She did as she was told. At least for his first two orders. After she had finished her beer she glanced at him. Curiously.

Lambert had just finished the last bite of eggs when he caught her look.

“What?”

“May I ask you something?” At least she tried to show some manners now, that was some kind of progress after all.

“You just did.”

She furrowed her brow. “Well, it’s late and you probably had a hard day and everything, but… when you’re still here tomorrow evening…” She was clearly searching for words and if he wasn’t mistaken she even blushed a little.

He grinned. “Are you asking me out? Sorry, wench, you’re absolutely not my type. Y’know, I prefer women with more…female attributes,” he quoted a stupid phrase of Triss Merigold.

The girl looked at him, confusion in her eyes. “What? No…I wanted to ask you if you could tell me more about your work.”

“My work?” He guffawed. “You certainly don’t want to know about that.”

“I do.”

“Because you love the ballads that moron Dandelion sings about the great Geralt of Rivia? Believe me, our work isn’t charming at all. There’s no beauty in it, or honour for that matter. It’s just blood and entrails and decay. Add some stench and lousy payment and you have quite an excellent overview over a witcher’s work.” He hoped that he had destroyed all her romantic little girl fantasies about what witchers did, but judging from her expression, his nice little monologue hadn’t achieved anything.

“Actually I wanted to hear about the monsters. Their appearance, habitat and characteristics.”

“Why should you wanna learn anything about monsters?” He asked. This girl baffled him. Her request made absolutely no sense. Being a girl she should rather cook and clean instead of asking questions about monsters.

“For science. Exploring different species is what we do. And the creatures that resulted from the Conjunction of the Spheres are particularly interesting.”

“That so?” Lambert asked while stretching his legs under the table. “And why exactly would I, after a hard day of killing monsters, spend my nights in a shabby taproom with an annoying and trousers-destructive girl like you, telling her anything about said creatures?”

She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. “Because I got you a room and a contract? And I suggested how to repair your trousers? And… I’d pay for your dinner.”

He tilted his head slightly and gave her a quick grin. “Now we’re talking. Tomorrow’s dinner plus the drinks. Believe me, I tend to be quite thirsty telling stories about my heroic feats.”

She nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Gladly.”

“Deal, then. And now, bugger off! Been a hard day.”

She stood up and despite  everything he had said to her, despite every single insult, she cracked him a smile still as honest and friendly as her first one.

“Good night, Master Witcher.”

He sighed. “Lambert.”

Her smile widened. “Has a nice ring to it, witcher Lambert.”

“Yeah, befitting of a heroic song” he mumbled while he watched her go. After paying her beer she turned around and came back to him, rummaging through her bag.

“Forgot something?” he asked, being more resigned than irritated at that point.

She eventually pulled two carrots out of her bag and handed them over to him. “I’ve heard your horse is quite fond of carrots.” 

He nodded. 

“I’ve grown them myself. Hope he’ll like them.” With another farewell she finally left the inn.

 _What a strange girl_ , Lambert pondered before he made his way to the innkeeper to pay for his stay.


	5. Chapter 5

Judging from the chestnut’s pleased munching, the carrots the girl had given him seemed to be fine. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about his bed. For one it was way too short for him to be able to stretch, but he could have gotten over that fact if the bed had been clean or otherwise comfortable. When he got up the next morning he felt as if he had spent the night on a filthy rack covered in a blanket reeking of sheep. No wonder Dandelion had never felt the need to stay in this inn. The rather unpleasant night was followed by an even more unpleasant breakfast consisting of bread being so hard that he nearly broke his teeth on it – for a short moment he considered throwing it at the innkeep’s head – and some fruit mash being so sour that it tasted suspiciously like vinegar.

After some reasoning, the fat inkeep had explained the way to the reeve and Lambert suspected that he had added at least two extra miles to the actual route. When he finally stood before an ornamented wooden door and knocked, an old man in black clothes opened. “What?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you, too. Heard you’ve got a drowner problem in the sewers?”

The man pondered for a moment. “This town suffers from many problems, if creatures in the sewers are one of them I can’t say. Are you a witcher?”

“No, I’m a painter in search of a nice scenery,” Lambert rolled his eyes, “what do I look like to you?”

“To be perfectly frank you look like a dirty thug who doesn’t know how to wear his swords properly. And your trousers are horribly mended, by the way.”

The old man scratched his chin, visibly unimpressed by Lambert’s furious stare.

_What the hell is wrong with that town?_

Not that he had expected a friendly welcome and a warm buffet, but somehow everyone here deemed him a joke figure.

Lambert took a deep breath. “Alright, funny guy. Can I talk to your principal about those drowners?”

Hesitantly, the servant let him in and led him to the reeve. After a long monologue about the rotten morals in this town – Lambert wholeheartedly agreed – and how monsters were the just punishment for mankind’s sins – again no objection from the witcher – they agreed on a fair payment. No fortune, but it would suffice for new supplies and a visit at the blacksmith. Lambert was very well able to tend to his gear himself, but he liked the luxury of having it done by a professional, something his fellow witchers, especially the modest and ever so practical Eskel, could not conceive.

Before he left, the reeve had told him that if he needed any ingredients for his potions, he could try to go to the university and ask at the faculty of Herbology, they sold them much cheaper than the merchants in town. Lambert had thanked him and now he searched for the shortest way to the madhouse they called university. 

Crossing the bridge of the academic isle, Lambert signed the visitor’s book and walked through the gate. Looking around, he tried to find the way to the herbologists. There were several wide greens located around majestic buildings. He decided to go left. In front of a well there were several students sitting on benches made of stone, all wearing red coats, some of them sported those little stupid feather hats that moron in the inn had worn. Lambert assumed that they were from the Faculty of Poetry. A rather nice looking girl noticed and approached him. “A real witcher. That’s _fascinating._ Dandelion’s been right, you have eyes like a cat. Although…”, she inspected him carefully, “I thought witchers would be more…impressive.”

He had heard many unpleasant things before, but that he wasn’t impressive enough? That was a colossal cheek. What did he have to do to be impressive enough? Dying his hair white and speaking in one-liners? _Fuck that, fuck that whole crazy town._

He cracked her a vile smile. “I can show you my more impressive parts tonight, if you like. But first, young lady, I need to find the Faculty of Herbology.”

She grinned. “You have to turn around and follow the gravel path until the very end. Building on the left is the Faculty of Nature History, on the right you’ll find the Herbology.”

He bowed mockingly. “Thank you very much.”

She grinned at him. “You know the “Merry Trout”? It’s an inn near the port. I’ll wait for your impressive parts there tonight.”

He nodded before he turned around. The reeve had been right. The morals in this town were rotten. Very rotten to be perfectly clear. But the prospect of banging that cute girl after getting a free dinner raised his spirits instantly. He was even nearly satisfied until he reached his destination. In front of the building was another green, with a massive oak tree in the middle of it. On that tree sat some furry creature, a young lynx by the look of it, whining pitiably. That alone would have been strange enough, but halfway to the top of the oak Lambert spotted the unique atrocious combination of a brown jacket, blue trousers and red boots. He sighed. The crazy girl from the inn proved once again that she was totally lunatic. She reached out for the lynx, the branch she had put her foot on wobbling dangerously.

Usually he was of the opinion that people should face the consequences of their stupid actions on any account, and watching that girl falling off that tree could make for a very spectacular sight. But if she fell unfortunately, she was very likely to break her pale neck and that would mean he’d have to pay for his dinner himself. Not to speak of the ado it would cause if he’d be seen standing next to the corpse of a young girl.

He sighed once again and approached the tree cautiously, watching the girl trying to climb further up.  Strangely enough, he was the only person around witnessing this scene. Did nonsense like this happen at such a regular base here that nobody even bothered anymore?

“Hey, goose girl. Thought that’s an university, not a circus.”

In the attempt to turn around to look at him, the girl lost her balance, tripped and fell. Thanks to his witcher reflexes he reached the tree in one quick jump, just in time to catch her. He had to do a lunge to get a steady stand. She looked at him in surprise, her face way too close to his for Lambert’s liking. He could even smell her hair. Herbs and fresh grass.

“Thank you.”

He nodded grimly and eyed her for another moment before he let her down. “Should tune the finish a little. Could add a somersault for more suspense.”

She grinned. “I’ll try it next time.”

“Hopefully not,” Lambert snorted, “if I hadn’t caught you, you’d be pretty dead by now.”

“If you hadn’t talked to me, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

“If you hadn’t climbed on that tree you wouldn’t have had the chance to trip in the first place.”

She grinned at him. “Quarrelsome, aren’t we? Listen, see that little beauty on top of that oak? That’s Atropa, she’s a lynx rufus…”

“Pardon? I hear you talking, but you don’t make any sense.”

Her smile widened. “Sorry, I’m just so fascinated by her. She’s a lynx, a bobcat to be precise. She’s the first lynx ever to be born in captivity. Well, it isn’t like real captivity, the animals have wide fields and parks in the outskirts of town. But we needed her today for some examinations. Long story short, she fled. And now I have to get her back.”

Lambert scratched his neck. “Listen, Victoria…”

“It’s Vica.”

“Fine, Vica. Listen, that thing up there is a lynx. A lynx is a big cat. Cats are able to climb. If it found its way up it will very well find its way down again.”

The girl shook her head. “No. Atropa is…different. She loves to climb up trees, but then she is…kinda lost. She doesn’t find a way down herself.” Her words were emphasized by a nerve-wracking yelp from up the tree.

Lambert sighed and crossed his arms in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “Kinda lost, huh? So it’s basically you in cat form.”

Vica grinned at him. “I’m not lost. Never. I just like to make the most of my journeys.”

“Including smashing down innocent people and destroying their clothes?”

“You look anything but innocent, witcher Lambert. “ Her smile widened when she looked at his thigh. “Ah, and you mended your valuable trousers. Nice. But you should really go for that strap idea.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “I won’t discuss my sense of fashion with a girl who looks like a jester.”

She raised her hands in an appeasing gesture, still smiling. “Alright. But speaking of being lost…what are you doing here? The entrance to the sewers is at the other end of town.”

“Not that this is any of your business,” he snarled, “but I’m…” the constant yelp from the lynx started to become really annoying now, “I wanted to buy supplies for my potions. Heard the Faculty of Herbology offers fair prices.”

She nodded. “The building over there. See you tonight, witcher Lambert. And thank you for saving the damsel in distress.” She winked at him. With that she started to climb up the tree again.

Lambert sighed and tugged at her sleeve to prevent her from further fooleries. “Hey, crazy one. What the fuck do you think you’re doing there? Is one near death experience not enough for one day?”

“But I have to get Atropa.” She looked at him, a determined look in her eyes.

He smirked. “Calm down.” He looked at the lynx and whistled until the still yelping animal stared at him. After a quick movement of his fingers and some murmured words, the lynx started to climb down.

Vica looked at Lambert, her eyes wide, her mouth opened in awe. “How… how did you do that?”

“It’s called magic, silly,” Lambert stated flatly while he led the cat to Vica. “Axii, a simple witcher sign, also helpful to make annoying little girls a little less annoying.” He gave Vica a short nod. “I’ll wait for you at sunset. Be in time!”

The girl bent down to leash the lynx and smiled. “Looking forward to it, witcher Lambert.” With a little curtsey she went off, the cat happily trotting at her side.

Lambert shook his head. How had this girl in her naivety and improvidence been able to survive in this  world for so long? He really hoped that she’d be in time for dinner. After all, he had another, much more interesting appointment to attend afterwards. He thought of the curvy bard girl that had invited him earlier and smirked. He really needed a distraction from this fucking town and its lunatic inhabitants.

And what could be better than a bottle of good wine and a pair of nice tits?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to continue, but I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter.

It was in the late afternoon when Lambert found himself sitting in front of an old maple tree in the outskirts, his back leant against its massive trunk.  He watched his stud enjoying the early summer’s grass of the copious pasture around them. Lambert had decided not to tie its hooves together. He rode his chestnut for the fifth year now and the horse seemed to be extraordinarily loyal. Or maybe he was just too lazy to run away. Anyway, Lambert saw no need to rob him of his freedom. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasant breeze. What he enjoyed even more was the silence out here. No turmoil on the marketplace, no jolly blustering students and no crazy girls with yelping lynxes. Just him, his horse and blissful silence.

Silence that was well-earned after all. After saving that strange girl’s life he had finally entered the Faculty of Herbology. Much to Lambert’s joy the reeve hadn’t lied to him, the supplies there _had been_ remarkably cheaper than those at the market. So he had bought a little of everything the salesperson,  a student in his third year, had offered him. He got the necessary ingredients for his witcher potions, like Sewant mushrooms and Hellebore petals, sparing him the need of crouching through fields or swamps to find them. Apart from that he had asked for the things he needed to brew some Black Gull, but the only thing he got in response was a quizzical glance. When he told the young man that he wanted to brew something ‘relaxing’, he had vanished behind a curtain. After some moments he had come back, handing Lambert two little sachets.

“Mandrake and Diviner’s sage. Not really relaxing, but you’ll have fun with it, that much I can promise,“ he had told him. Lambert had shrugged and paid the agreed price. Funnily enough the words of his old mentor, Vesemir, crossed his mind when he thought about the hallucinogens he had purchased. “A witcher must always be prepared.” At least one thing he could agree on with the old crock, although Lambert was sure that Vesemir had some altogether different things in mind while telling him this piece of wisdom.

After bringing his purchases to his room he had inspected the sewer’s entrance. It had been wide open. No wonder the drowners or whatever ugly creatures living in there could come out and have a little killing spree. This town didn’t need a witcher. Not at all. A reeve with a working brain and a skilled blacksmith would have solved the problem of dead people near the sewers within half a day. Whatever, the stupidity of the people in charge secured his income. After that little business trip he had taken his stud for a long ride, ending in the outskirts where they were now.

Lambert reluctantly opened his eyes and took a peek at the setting sun. He sighed and came to his feet. After mounting his stud they headed towards the inn where his dinner would await him.

The innkeeper greeted him with a hostile gaze. “Your dinner’s already been paid for, master witcher. Get yourself a seat. Marie will see to your needs.”

Lambert nodded. Funny, how well-mannered this stupid fuck could be, now that he’d been paid up front. But a golden key could open any door. The fat man coughed while sorting some bottles into a shelf behind him. “Ahem, you…you already been lucky with that creatures in the sewers?”

Lambert stared at him. “Haste makes waste.” He turned his head to get a better look at the taproom. It was as crowded as the night before, and every bit as noisy. He adjusted his pupils to find Vica in that bulk of people.

_You shouldn’t call her that. Crazy girl is enough for her. She’s nowhere near important enough to remember her name._

He found her sitting among a group of students. They sat on benches around two big tables that had been pushed together. Vica played dice with two fellow students, one of them noting their results on a shabby piece of parchment. Next to her sat that asshat from the day before. He played on his lute and sang a ballad with quite graphic lyrics. Some other young people were eating and playing cards, but all of them seemed to enjoy the evening.

Lambert sighed and approached the merry round with a few swift steps, earning looks of surprise and suspicion. Some of the students whispered to each other. A polite but pointless try to hide their rather hostile opinion of witchers, given that he could still hear every single word thanks to his sensitive hearing. When the chatter had finally died, the blonde girl turned around and looked at him. Once again, she didn’t behave as he would have expected her to. With a big smile on her face she got up, approached him and turned to her friends. “Folks, this is Lambert.”

Some of her friends nodded in his general direction, others stared at their cards or dices. Two girls eyed him up. Leo turned around, put his lute on the now empty space on the bench and glared at him. “Still there, witcher? Contract not fulfilled yet? Not the most effective of your profession, are you?”

At the split of a second Lambert had seized the young bard by his collar, bringing Leo’s face very close to his own. His voice was low and dangerous. “Funny how bold you are now that there are ten of your sort. Need to impress them, hm?”

Before he could drag him off the bench to break some of his bones, he felt Vica’s hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he let go of the young man and cleared his throat. An ugly smile crept on his lips. “You don’t have to worry about my efficiency, bard. I simply couldn’t refuse the prospect of spending another dinner with your lovely friend here.” He put his arm around Vica’s shoulder, causing her to give him a surprised glance. But her smile didn’t leave her lips.

Leo snorted. “Told her yesterday that you aren’t good company for her. Silly girl didn’t listen.”

Vica frowned. “I am NOT silly, Leo. And Lambert isn’t bad company either. Well, not worse than you, anyway. Stop being such a cad!”

Leo laughed while the others on the table simply watched the scene, preparing for the probably nasty things to come. “What did you do to her, witcher? Is that one of your funny witcher tricks? Did you…alter her brain or something? Girl’s making no sense anymore.”

Before Vica could answer, Lambert tightened the grip around her shoulder, his parody of a smile growing bigger. “Absolutely not. She is enchanted indeed. But not by my ‘funny witcher tricks’ as you so eloquently put it, but by my good manners and my charming ways.” He bowed his head. “I hope you’ll enjoy your evening without her, Leo.”

Vica darted Leo a disapproving glance, went to the table and got her mug. “So long, folks! Enjoy the evening. Ah, and Giselle?” She nodded to a dark-haired girl in a red dress, who smiled at her.  “I know Vica, next time you’ll get your revenge.”

After knocking at the table, which seemed to be a strange student way of saying “Goodbye”, Vica finally left her friends and looked around. After some moments, she used her mug to point at one corner of the taproom. With her other hand she tugged at his jacket, a gesture he answered with raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Haven’t I been clear enough about touching people?”

Vica simply grinned while dragging him to the small free table. “You talked about _strange_ people. We talked last night and now we’re having dinner together. So we aren’t strangers to each other anymore.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he went for his usual strategy. Being a prickly bastard.  “Strangers or not, I just don’t want you to touch me.”

“May I remind you that you were the one to touch me five minutes ago? Again?” With a mischievous smile she sat down and put her mug in front of her.

He sighed while sitting down on the other chair. He tried to find a comfortable position. A nearly insoluble task, the table was so small that no matter how he sat his knees were way too close to Vica’s for his liking. “Listen, that was something entirely different.”

“Actually, it wasn’t, I mean, “ she tapped her feet on the floor, “you had your whole arm around me, whereas I took just two fingers to touch you.”

“Stop it.” He grabbed her mug and took a deep sip. A horrible mistake, he grimaced as if he had bitten on a lemon. “What the fuck is that?”

“Apple juice.”

Lambert shot her a deadly glance. “I hate apples.”

“Sorry to hear that, because this crop in particular is excellent. But you know, you could have asked what was in my mug.”

He snorted and tried to swallow the gross taste away. “Well I thought that you’d drink something normal.”

She shrugged. “But you already found out that I am not normal.”

His search for a cutting response was interrupted by the little servant girl who put his dinner and a tankard full of foamy beer on the table. “Master witcher? Your dinner. Beef with beans. Bread’s fresh, so is the beer. I hope you’ll enjoy your meal,” she cheeped before hurrying away.

Lambert decided to ignore Vica’s question and light the candle on the table with a swift movement of his hand instead. “That’s fascinating!” the girl exclaimed.

“Actually, it’s Igni,” he answered drily, causing her to smile even brighter.

While cutting his meat, Lambert watched her pulling different parchments, quill and ink from her bag and putting it on the table.

“ Pretty rude to sort out your belongings while dining with me, y’know?”

She smirked. “I’m not dining with you. See? No food for me. And even if I did, it would be more of a business dinner.”

Lambert wrinkled his brow. “And why exactly don’t you eat anything?”

“Had something at the university. One perk of taking part in a project on new fertilization methods is that you get fresh fruit and vegetables on a regular base.”

He used his knife to point at her. “You won’t survive the next winter on fruits and vegetables only. You’re as skinny as a rake.”

He couldn’t find any sign of anger on her face. If anything, her smirk grew even wider. “Well, the rakes we use for our project prove to be quite durable,” she took another sip from her apple juice, “Besides, I had to pay dinner for a hungry witcher who told me to spare some additional coins to satisfy his thirst.” She shrugged. “So, no warm dinner for me tonight.”

Lambert lowered his fork and stared at her. “’Tis better be a joke.”

Vica sighed. “No reason to let your food get cold. I had a big bowl of stew at the university. With bacon and some bread. See? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wasn’t worried about you,” he snarled while taking another bite of beef. “So, a business dinner. Wanted to know about my heroic deeds, you said.”

“Actually I said I wanna hear about the monsters you fight.”

Lambert sighed. Of course he hadn’t forgotten her words from last night but he desperately wanted to find a point to make her sad, furious or at least cause her to lose her annoying smile.

Three hours and several drinks later he tried to stretch his legs once more. At this point he didn’t even care anymore that he touched her lower leg while doing so. He took another sip of his beer and nodded. “So, there was this bunch of really fucking ugly Erynias and…”

“And with a bunch you mean?”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Seven or eight. Does that matter?”

Vica looked at him indignantly. “It does matter to me! This is supposed to be a scientific talk and…”, she rummaged through her parchments until she had found what she needed, “Ha! Well, it is said that Erynias often hunt in packs of five to twenty. I mean, that’s quite a range. Could you specify that a little?”

He took the parchment from her hand and eyed it suspiciously. Alongside very detailed notes about Erynias, Harpies and other hybrids there were drawings of each species. Quite accurate drawings, he had to admit.

“You collected all that information yourself?”

She nodded impatiently. “Yes. Told ya, for science. So, is a pack of Erynias closer to five or closer to twenty?”

“And those drawings…also done by you?”

“Yes. Are they alright?” She looked at him nervously, reminding him of a puppy waiting for praise from their owner.

“Well…,” he let her wait a little longer, enjoying her visible impatience, “those ones are quite…decent. The head of an Erynia is wider, their claws are pointier, their physique is slimmer but it kinda looks like a hybrid, vaguely at least.”

Finally he saw a change in her expression. She looked disappointed when she grabbed the parchment from him and noted something next to her Erynia drawing.

He didn’t feel as satisfied as he had hoped. After watching her for some moments, he sighed. “Closer to five, to answer your initial question. Rarely seen more than ten at once.”

“Thank you.” After writing this piece of information on her parchment she looked up to him and smiled. What a strange girl she was, still being kind when being mistreated. Like a puppy indeed.

He still didn’t know what to make of her, and this made him slightly uncomfortable. He coughed. “Well, thank you for the meal and the drinks, Vica,” he slightly tilted his head, “but it’s late and I have, well, a date of a different sort to attend. Y’know, less business, more pleasure.”

“Thank you for your time, witcher Lambert. Could we talk again, let’s say, tomorrow evening?”

He slammed his fist on the table.“Definitely not!”

“But…”

Lambert brought his face closer to her. “Listen, miss scientist. “No” means “no”, no matter how many times you say “but”. I’m a witcher, not one of your teachers. And this evening here with you had cost me more nerves than any rotfiend ever could,” he narrowed his eyes, “I’m killing those things in the sewers tomorrow and then I’ll be gone. And you and me will never meet again. Do you understand me?”

To his surprise she didn’t say anything and simply nodded. The lack of resistance made him angry. “Fine. And now I’ll go and meet a beautiful bard girl, much more beautiful than you could ever dream of being by the way. And I’ll plough her all night long.” He leant backwards and showed her a vicious smile.

After putting her writing materials back into her bag, she nodded again. “She has to be beautiful, that’s a common requirement for being a bard,” she wound a streak of hair between her fingers, “may you do well!”

Lambert crossed his arms and snorted. “What exactly do you mean?”

Vica gave him a mischievous smile. “Well, bards are known for writing ballads about all kinds of…experiences they had. And don’t get me wrong, there IS a lack of songs about witchers other than the White Wolf. So, if you please that bard’s needs she’ll write a song about you. If not, well, she’ll most certainly still write a song, but the content would be slightly different.”

If the mutations hadn’t affected his vessels he would have turned a lovely shade of fuming red. “Do you imply that I am not fit to please a woman’s needs?”

Vica shrugged. “I don’t imply anything. How could I? I’m not nearly good-looking enough to ever hope to have even the slightest chance to get you into my bed. All I’m saying is: Good luck.”

Lambert snorted. “Believe me, girl, you don’t wanna go there.”

She nodded and stood up. “Probably not.” She pulled three carrots out of her bag and put them on the table. “For your horse. As a farewell gift.”

He eyed the carrots. “Why? Why do you do this? This is…I mean, you don’t make any sense. You’re not supposed to behave like this!”

“Maybe I just don’t care what I’m supposed to do.”  Her tone was fierce. After looking at him for several moments she offered him her hand. He snorted and ignored her gesture. Vica  lowered her hand and slightly tilted her head. “Goodbye, witcher Lambert. The best of luck on your journey!”  She left the taproom without another word.

Lambert stared at her for a while before he got up, took the carrots and went to the stables. He fumed. That fucking crazy girl had managed to destroy his evening before it had really begun. Again.


	7. Chapter 7

He was woken by the prolonged curring of a pigeon who gave the beat for a woodpecker eagerly pecking at the window frame.

_Fucking great. Even the birds in that hellhole of a town are nuts._

With his eyes still closed, he stretched out and sighed.

“Good morning, handsome,” the woman beside him purred. Although the last few hours with her had been quite pleasurable, he couldn’t recall her name. Inga? Caroline? His faltering efforts to remember were destroyed by the fact that she pressed herself against him and kissed him passionately.

He grinned at her. “Morning. Been impressive enough last night?”

She darted him a mischievous glance while tracing a long scar on his right hip.

“Pretty much so. But to give my final rating we have to delve further into the matter.”

She tried to roll him on his back, a hopeless endeavor given his strength and his heightened reflexes. With a swift movement he turned her around, pinned her down, his hands around her wrists and a smirk on his lips. “Afraid we have to postpone that. Unfortunately my latest contract won’t  fulfil itself. And even a witcher has debts to pay.”

The bard, whose name Lambert still had no recollection of, pouted, looking rather inviting doing so. She definitely knew how to play. “There are debts for you to pay indeed, witcher. See you tonight?”

He grinned again. “Perhaps. But when the path calls, a witcher has to answer.”

She chuckled. “Not only a fierce warrior but a poet as well.”

“Promised you to give you something to write about. And don’t forget the ‘mage between the sheets’ part.” He let one hand slide down her breasts and for a short moment he considered spending another two or three hours with her. She was beautiful and willing, a combination which was hard to find these days.

Eventually the reason he never knew he had won. He sighed and got up, slipped into his clothes, fastened the sword belts around his back and looked at the bard who had rolled to her side to watch him. He went to the bed, gave her a slap on the ass and grinned contentedly while he left the inn where they had spent the night.

As he went to the sewers Lambert had some time to recall the last night. The bard girl – Nadia? – had not only satisfied him, she also had been the reason he had gotten some hours of sleep. _Real sleep_ , without those horrible nightmares that usually came with it. Dreams of times and memories he thought he had long forgotten. He dreamt of the boys he had shared a room with in Kaer Morhen decades back, how most of them had died during the Trial of Grasses, screaming in agony before losing their conscience and wasting away, he dreamt of those who survived the Trials just to be killed by mediocre monsters because they were too inexperienced and too confident to correctly estimate the danger of those creatures. The worst dreams up to this day, however, were those of the time before Vesemir had brought him to Kaer Morhen. Dreams of his asshole of a father, always being drunk, always beating the shit out of him and his mother. There were exactly two possibilities to get rid of those dreams. The first one was to get as high as a kite, no matter if it was on booze or on hallucinogens, the second one was to find someone to spend the night with. When he held a woman in his arms he was never racked by his nightmares. Lambert preferred the second method, because usually sharing a bed with someone didn’t result in a horrible hangover and he appreciated the additional warmth radiated by another person. But being a witcher more often than not he didn’t have the choice between those two options. So, the Diviner’s sage and the Mandrake might come in handy sooner than Lambert would have preferred.

An hour later he was standing in front of the still open entrance to the sewers, his blades sharp and his potion vials filled. He took a last deep breath of fresh air and entered the sewers, trying to adapt his pupils to the blackness. After some steps he let out an irritated sigh. It was dark as midnight in there, making it impossible to see enough, witcher eyes or not. He took a flask of cat potion from a satchel from his belt and poured it down. It tasted gross and not for the first time Lambert wondered why no witcher ever came up with the idea to add some nice condiments to those damn potions. Or at least a bit of sugar. As if a witcher’s life didn’t suck enough anyway. But if the witchers of the old school had been as great jokers as Vesemir it didn’t surprise him they had had no interest in making life any more pleasurable.

While he waded through the brackish water that reached up to his ankles he concentrated on every little thing that could give him a hint as where to find the drowners. At least he assumed that it were drowners living down here and having human meat banquets from time to time. He had been too lazy and too irritated by the reeve’s stupid blathering to ask him for specific information about the dead people found near the sewers. He just knew that they had been torn apart, at least partly. But being on the path for well over fifty years he knew his stuff. And what else should there be in the sewers? A dragon? A giant venom-spitting toad? A basilisk?

After roughly twenty-five forks he reached a passage being even darker than the ones before. The walls were worn out and looked pretty instable, broken bricks lying every few yards in the sewage. Considering the absence of maintenance in this part of the sewers he decided not to use Aard in the upcoming fight. He had survived too much bullshit just to be squashed by collapsing brickwork. He heard scratching sounds coming from further down the passage, accompanied by the typical stench of undead, rotten flesh. Drowners. He went through the gateway with quick, certain steps and peeked around the fork. There was another short passage, leading into a reservoir. Eight drowners used the wastewater in there to hold a friendly gathering. Lambert sighed. The stench was quickly becoming nearly intolerable. He concentrated, drew his steel sword and jumped into the reservoir. He hadn’t much time to lament the dirty water destroying his armor because the drowners had already noticed him. He greeted them with a malicious smile and a strong pinch of Igni.

When he finally made his way out of the sewers it was with eight drowner heads in a bag and way too much drowner guts and sludge on his clothes. As he approached the exit he did not only sense the incident sunlight but a certain smell of herbs and fresh grass that was definitely not coming from the meadows but from a person he had hoped to never see again.

“You.” She sat cross-legged on the grass, a book on her lap, her bag lying next to her, her incredulous goose waddling in some distance.

“Me,” she confirmed. When she looked up from her book to smile at him, he took a moment to eye her. She wore dark green trousers and a white tunic with short sleeves. She had several scratches and scars on her arms and her fingers were, as usual, covered in ink. A messy braid fell over her shoulder.

“You alright, witcher Lambert?” She asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“Everything's splendid! I had to fight a bunch of fucking ugly bitches down there, I reek like a trash dump and I have to bear with you. Once again.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How the hell did you know that I’d be here right now?”

“’twas a shot in the dark,” came her laconic reply.

“What was that?” Lambert looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Well, by now he was sufficiently convinced that this was definitely the case, but her level of audacity still impressed him.

“Well,” she drummed her fingers on her book, “I had quite some time to kill before my first lecture, and Troublemaker wanted to go for a walk, so I thought we could as well spend the morning down here. ”

“And get yourself killed by drowners in the process?”

She shrugged and packed the book into her bag. “You were here to kill them. So I didn’t have a reason to be afraid,” she looked at him with a roguish glint in her eyes, “did I?”  She nodded to the bag over his shoulder. “What’s in there?”

He gave her a vile grin before throwing the bag. The girl had quick reflexes, he had to grant her that. She opened the bag and peeked inside, without any expression of disgust, much to Lambert’s sorrow. A moment later he regretted to have given her the bag in the first place even more, because she emptied it on the ground. “Fascinating!” she uttered before taking a pair of gloves from her bag and kneeling down to examine one of the heads. Lambert simply stood and stared at her while she studied the drowner head as if it was some kind of valuable antiquity, his face expressing pure disbelief.

“Look at those teeth. And those big pores…,” she mumbled, her voice nearly tender.

“And this lovely smell,” Lambert mocked, “better than any flower around here.”

She chuckled. “Never worked with ferrets, have you? But to be honest, I’d prefer a peony over a drowner.”

He snorted. “Playtime’s over. Have to bring those to the reeve to get my payment.”

She nodded, put the head back into the bag and tightened the string around it. “River’s half a mile from here.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Glad you know the geography of your town. But what do I care?”

“Well,” she got up, handed the bag to Lambert and doffed her gloves, “you’re full of drowner slime and … other interesting things. And the reeve is said to be very delicate.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the reeve’s quirks or his delicate nose. I’ll go to him, he’ll pay me the agreed price, then I’ll go to your fat innkeeper friend and take a bath. Afterwards I’ll leave this hellhole called Oxenfurt.”

She adjusted her tunic and blew a streak of hair from her face. “You already have a new contract in prospect?”

“Listen, girl. That’s not how a witcher’s life works. People aren’t actually lining up to give you a contract. You have to _search_ for work. And right now you’re preventing me from doing so.”

“Actually, I’m not.” She smiled and put a dirty piece of parchment from a belt bag and waved it in front of him.

“What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

Her smile broadened while she handed him the paper. It was written in a small and scrawly hand.

 

 _“_ _Good men,_

_My daughter went to the woods a fortnight ago to get firewood. She never returned._

_Whoever brings her back to me will be generously rewarded._

_Time presses._

_Milan”_

 

While Lambert mused what “generously” meant for a man who was barely able to write, he glanced over at her. The girl watched him with big eyes and reminded him once more of a puppy waiting to be petted.

“Where does that Milan live?”

“Delberz, a little village half a mile south.”

“And what were you doing there? Apart from searching for witcher contracts?”

Once again, his cutting remarks missed their aim. The girl remained absolutely calm and relaxed.

“I wasn’t searching for contracts. I had to get some coneflowers and dahlias for a project I’m working on.”

“A project, I see.” This girl had the remarkable quality to make the utter nonsense she talked sounding like it made perfect sense. After some moments of silence he had made a decision. A rather questionable one, but he couldn’t deny that the girl had helped him again. “Get your goose, bring it home and meet me at the inn. At noon sharp.”

She nodded eagerly and went to get her bird. Lambert sighed while he put the contract into his jacket. When she came back, her honking goose in her bag, he cleared his throat. He knew that he’d regret his next sentence for all eternity but what did it matter at this point? “Thank you, Vica.”

She looked almost shy as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re welcome, Lambert.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that update took 84 years. I want to thank those of you still reading and hopefully enjoying the story. Have fun with the new chapter!

The first thing Lambert noticed when he led his chestnut out of the stables was the noise. Not the normal Oxenfurt-level of noise, but the kind that was so intense that once it had reached his ears went directly to his brain, digging itself deep into his gyri and causing him a royal headache.  The fair, he remembered. The girl – Vica- had mentioned it on his first evening in town. So far he had been able to escape the festivity and the ado that came with it by taking small alleys instead of the main streets on his journeys through the city. But of course his luck couldn’t last forever.

He groaned. What a shame. The morning had been an overall nice one so far. He had gotten his payment for the drowner contract without endless discussions, a long hot bath had helped him to relax and to get rid of the gross scent mixture of slime, entrails, dust and sweat that had surrounded him and had caused the fat innkeep to pull an even more repulsed face than usual when he saw Lambert entering the inn this midmorning. The witcher had helped the other man to fully embrace the smell by crossing the taproom as slowly and close to him as possible.

Lambert raked his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. The surrounding noise worsened, and he felt as if a blacksmith had opened his workshop in his head, smashing his hammer on his brain in a steady rhythm.

_Thump-thump-thump._

He looked over to his horse. The chestnut didn’t seem to mind the noise around him and stood still like a statue. “Good boy” Lambert mumbled while stroking the horse’s neck. The stallion nudged his owner’s temple, his way of asking for treats. Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Stop begging, YOU got breakfast! That’s not the way it works, bud.”

The horse shook his head and snorted, then regained his statuesque posture. Lambert looked around. The big clock on the town hall tower showed two minutes before twelve.  He hoped for the girl that she’d be on time. Now that the adrenaline from the fight had completely vanished he not only noticed the still increasing headache but also the nasty feeling of his empty stomach. He could take some food from his saddlebags but he had the rule not to waste his supplies when he was able to simply go and buy something to eat. That was one of the things Vesemir had told him during his training.

 _“You never know what’s to come, so spend your supplies wisely.”_  

Not everything the old man had said was useless muttering, Lambert granted him that. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Among the potpourri of smells you could find in every town he noticed a faint trace of a familiar scent. That of fresh herbs and grass. He opened his eyes, turned his head right and saw her, hurrying towards him with a smile on her face, her cheeks rosy and her fingers inky.

“Hello, Lambert.”

He nodded. “Vica.” The fact that she had indeed listened to him and hadn’t brought her goose satisfied him. But there was something different about her clothing. “What’s that armband?”

Vica adjusted the piece of fabric on her left upper arm that showed a white ermine cross on red ground. “That’s the university's coat of arms.”

He nodded. “Nice. But aren’t those silly coats in different colours for every faculty enough to show your affiliation?”

She grinned and pointed at the brown jacket she wore now. “You’re right. That coat shows that I’m studying nature history, whereas the armband shows that I’m also a staff member.”

“Wait, you’re working AND studying?” He frowned. That was nothing he’d expected. On the other hand, nothing about this girl was anything like he would have expected it.

She shrugged. “Even students have to pay bills. It’s nothing special, really. I told you that I take part in some projects. And I’m working in the library. So all in all it’s not so much working as doing things I like and getting paid for.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That makes you an incredibly lucky girl.”

Vica nodded. “I know.” She sounded serious and for a moment Lambert pondered if she was something more than a whimsical student with an obscure fascination with witchers. Her voice put an end to his thoughts.

“So, the university staff gets those armbands. If you want to leave the university during teaching, you have two possibilities. Either you take the hole in the fence behind the dean’s office, but that involves some climbing and jumping over several roofs, or you have such an armband. That’s why working as a research assistant is so popular among students .”

Lambert gave her a short smirk. “So much for doing things that you like, huh?” He eyed her. “And with that armband you can come and go as you please?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. You need to have business in town to be allowed to leave.”

“So, this talk is a business one?”

She looked at him, her expression a shining example of innocence. “Most definitely.”

“And, given that you wear that armband, what would be the alternative to having our little business talk here?”

“Well…” she played with her braid, “actually I should sit and listen to Professor Le Horve talking about paramecia.”

Lambert snorted. “And why should you skip such an interesting sounding class? Surely not for a boring business conversation with a witcher.”

Vica rolled her eyes. “This man is horrible. You see, his lessons could be really thrilling, the topics he’s teaching have so much potential.  But after five minutes of lecturing he goes into “Everything was better in my days.” I mean, “his days” were probably about five hundred years ago and maybe everything _was_ better in those days, but listening to him is exhausting to say the least.”

Lambert nodded. “Know exactly what kind of guy you’re talking about. But who tells you that I’m not as boring as he is?”

“I’ve talked to you before. And,” she shrugged, “I like your voice better than his.”

It took him a moment to process her words. “You…like my voice.” Well, that was something that he hadn’t heard before.

“I said I liked your voice better than his. That’s actually a comparison, not a definitive declaration.”

He sighed. “I told you before that you shouldn’t play the clever one. That doesn’t make you very likeable.”

“Thought you dislike me anyway,” she said smiling as if he had just complimented her.

Truth be told, she was more likeable than most people he had met on the path, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Unpredictable as she was who knew what such a statement could lead to. So he decided to say nothing at all.

But she didn’t seem to expect an answer. Still smiling, she turned to face his stallion that looked at her for a moment and then nudged her cheek.

Vica giggled and darted Lambert a questioning look. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, go ahead, pet him.” He gazed at his horse with angry eyes and suddenly a line from a play he had watched in a theatre in Novigrad years ago came to his mind. “Et tu?” Really, et tu, buddy? Wasn’t a horse supposed to be a man’s most loyal friend? Well, this one forgot about his owner as soon as he was confronted with a blonde braid and slender fingers. But at this point Lambert wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“May I give him some carrots?” Vica asked, sounding almost shy. The horse answered for Lambert, happily neighing and stomping his hooves on the floor.

“Guess that means yes. And please hurry, because believe it or not, there are more important things than bonding with horses.”

With a wide grin she pulled two carrots from her bag and gave it to the chestnut who munched them with relish. “Yes, you’re a good boy,” she told the horse in a gentle voice before looking at Lambert once again. “May I ask why you wanted to see me again?”

He shrugged. “Yesterday it was your turn to ask questions, now it’s mine. Consider it a study in human behavior. Highly unusual behavior in your case. Is there an inn where they serve edible food?”

“Depending on what you like there are several places to get good food. But may I make another suggestion?”

“You’re the local. Go ahead.”

 “Well, the fair opens today, “ her eyes lit up, “and they have different booths with food from all over the continent. I’ve heard this year there will also be merchants from Nilfgaard.”

“The fair, girl, and the noise coming from it, are the reasons I have a terrible headache. I won’t visit this stupid festivity.”

 “But, they’ve got really everything. And on your many travels you surely have had some food you’d like to eat again?”

“Nothing as tasty that it would justify entering that horrible ado.” Had there been anything ambiguous in his refusal? Obviously yes since she tried to persuade him once again.

“But if you refuse you’ll miss out on really great treats. So, if you don’t have a favourite dish, well, I’m from Dillingen, Brugge. And there’s a booth on the fair where you can get the best wafers and cotton candy from my country.”

When she saw Lambert’s expression she hastily added, “ I know, that’s probably not what a tall and hard-working man like you prefers, but there’s another booth from Brugge where they sell fish soup and scalloped pork roast. And they do have rather nice beer.”

He studied her for a moment. With her big eyes she really looked like a young dog. Somewhere in Sodden they bred a race whose coat colour even matched her hair. He shook his head. “Listen, that fair is freaking loud, even for human ears. For witcher ears it’s almost unbearable. Besides,” he nodded to his stallion, “you as an expert on animal behavior and in your position as the new personal friend of my companion here should know that horses don’t tolerate stress very well.”

 “And it would be a shame to expose him to a fair,” she agreed, “he could bolt and hurt somebody. Albeit right now he doesn’t seem to be affected by the noise at all.”

“Vica…” he growled, an eyebrow raised. Although he had to admit that the girl was right. When he had bought the chestnut two years ago from a merchant in upper Aedirn he had especially asked for a patient, mellow horse. Luckily enough the man had offered him just the right animal. Tall, persistent and calm. The last thing Lambert needed when nearing a monster’s nest was a bolting horse. And just now it became apparent that the chestnut was indeed so calm that he could stand in the middle of a portal to hell without so much as neighing.

The corners of her mouth twitched. “All right. Well, we do have pretty solid stables at the university.”

“Good for you. But this is my horse and I’m not a member of your academy.”

She grinned mischievously and pointed at her armband. “If I lead him to the stables no one will ask. And rest assured, your belongings are safe with the stable boy.”

“That’s a…not so bad idea I guess,” Well, it was a rather good idea indeed, but there was no point in telling her that. She probably would become even more reckless if he praised her idea.

Still she smiled as if he had paid her a big compliment. “Thought so.” she said before taking his horse by the bridle and darted Lambert another look. “You ready?”

He simply nodded and trotted beside her. Of course he wasn’t ready. How should anyone ever be ready for a girl like this? But after all it had been him who had wanted to see her again, even if he couldn't comprehend now why he had deemed this a good idea in the first place. He sighed and watched Vica who led his horse through the streets as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“He’s beautiful,” she stated after some moments of blissful silence.

“That’s not the reason I purchased him. He’s loyal, calm and strong, that’s what's important in a horse.”

She nodded. “As I said. Beautiful. Inside and outside.”

Lambert gave her a strange look. “Beauty within? Sounds like some poetic bullshit. A good horse he is and that’s it.”

Vica gave him a short smile. “What’s his name?”

“Listen, that’s a horse, not a king. Not everyone has the habit of naming every animal they see.”

“But”, she pondered for a second, a steep furrow in her forehead, “what do you call him?”

“Why, buddy most of the time. Or horse. Because that’s what he is.”

“But you’re a human and…”

“I am most definitely NOT a human,” he interrupted her sharply.

She gave him a sad look. “Do you think that some mutations…”

“Yes,” he hissed, “and all your fellow humans do think that, too. To you, me and my brethren are just this . Mutants. Non-humans. Witchers.”

She eyed him, biting her lip, obviously searching for the right words. “I’m sorry.” Leaving it to him what exactly she was sorry about. “But you do have a name. You’re Lambert.”

He snorted. “Most people don’t even bother asking for it. And may I remind you that you called me witcher as well the first time we met?”

She nodded. “Yes, because I didn’t know your name. And being a witcher is your profession.” With the hand that didn’t hold the bridle she fumbled with her braid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

She sounded so sincere that, instead of being his usual abrasive self, he answered quietly, nearly too quietly to be heard, “’s alright.”

Vica nodded slowly. “So…”, she weighed her next words, “”Fides” would be a nice name.”

“Fides as in loyalty?”

“You do speak the old languages?” she beamed at him.

“No. But there was a time when I was forced to read old and stupid books, and some words stuck with me.” He said, scratching his neck.

“Alright. But Fides would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

He sighed. “I’ll tell you a story. Geralt of Rivia, the one you know from the stories, the famous White Wolf, names his horses Roach. Every single one. That’s some real idiocy.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry, but you do the same.”

“No, I don’t,” he corrected her sharply, “because unlike Geralt I don’t name my horses.”

“Yes. Instead you call them buddy or horse. Every single one. So, “buddy” is your “Roach”, then.”

 Unfortunately they reached the university gate as he was just about to explain to her loud and clear why this wasn’t the case.

“Back in a minute,” she said over her shoulder while leading his horse to the stables. And once again there was nothing for Lambert to do but watching her, still not knowing what to make of her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for staying with me and this story. Life's been pretty busy lately and I'm incredibly sorry it took me ages to update (again...)  
> A special shoutout to AleeraShane and modern_death for their lovely comments!  
> I wish all of my readers a very merry Christmas (or all the other celebrations you may have these days) :)

Lambert didn’t know if time passed differently in Oxenfurt or if the girl simply wanted to let him wait. It was a fact, however, that she wasn’t back after a minute – or five. Sighing, he let himself fall onto a richly carved stonebench that was way more uncomfortable than it looked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In an attempt to make the blacksmith in his head to stop hammering for a short while, he focused on his surroundings. There were two students passing by, lively discussing the Order of the Flaming Rose’s principles and its raison d'être. He opened his eyes just wide enough to notice their dark blue coats.

_Philosophers. Definitely._

He turned his head to the opposite direction. A move that was rewarded with a staccato of blows firing through his head. Grimacing, he noticed a group of four students clothed in purple. One of them read out a pamphlet, the others nodded every now and then or said something in a grave voice.

_Probably jurists._

As he was about to speculate which faculty the girls in the light green clothes sitting under an oak and touching each other’s arms belonged to, he sensed the slightest whiff around his shoulder. In the split of a second he came to his feet and found himself eye in eye with Vica, his hand tightly clutching her wrist.

“Missed me that much?” She smiled at him after a moment of awkward silence.

“Told you already about private space,” he gnarled, “What’s it with you and touching me?”

“Right now you’re the one touching me.” She nodded to his hand. “And you haven’t answered my initial question,” she added with a wink.

Instantly he released her from his grip and frowned. “Strange definition of a minute, girl,” he muttered.

“Academic clocks tick differently. Besides,” she fiddled with her braid, “the stable boy was smitten with Fides.”

“Not his name.”

“Oh, but it is now.” Vica drew a parchment out of her bag and waved it in front of him.

Lambert gave her a suspicious glance before taking the paper. “What’s that?”

“The warrant to get your horse back. Good thing we talked about the matter earlier, since it’s obligatory to record the horse’s name.”

Temporarily lost for words Lambert narrowed his eyes. “What kind of academic bullshit is this?”

“It’s called bureaucracy.” She rolled her eyes. “Deadly annoying. Like, if you go to the deanery trying to register for a new project you need a testimonial from your accountable lecturer. But to get said testimonial you need a certification of necessity from the deanery. Almost like in an old Elvish comedy.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Why would they do that? That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Doesn’t have to,” she shrugged. “It creates jobs.” A mischievous smile came to her lips. “And our dean loves to stamp.”

Before the little gap between her upper front teeth could distract him from the nonsense she was talking, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Anyway…this stupid form here, you don’t wanna tell me that your stable boy can read.”

“Still a bit slow on it, but he makes progress. Learning how to read and write is one of the perks of working at the academy. But the form isn’t for him, he remembers the horses by their appearance anyway. It is for the stable master.”

When she saw his incredulous look she shrugged. “Bureaucracy…”

Lambert sighed again, putting the parchment into his jacket. “…creates jobs, I see. Listen, Vica, could we talk about something remotely sane for a change?”

 She clapped her hands. “Sure thing! Wanted to eat something, didn’t you? Made up your mind about the fair?”

“Answer’s still no.”

Completely ignoring his objection Vica blew a strand of hair from her face. “Wanna stroll through the Thinker’s garden? Gorgeous right now, hyacinths and gerbera are in full bloom.” Her eyes lit up. “And they’ve planted frangipani last year, they’re stunning!”

He watched her and for an instant he considered to indulge her enthusiasm. But with Vica one thing would lead to another and he would probably find himself sitting around a fire, dead drunk and juggling with stamps at the end of the day.

“Vica, I’m a man. A bloody hungry one at that. Don’t wanna stroll anywhere and I absolutely don’t wanna watch flowers. I want something to eat.”

_And  a drink to calm this headache of doom would be welcome, too._

Attentionally watching him, she shrugged. “Flowers won’t run away. We can visit them next time.”

Before Lambert could toss in that there wouldn’t be a next time she nodded over to the University’s gateway. “Let’s go, then.”

Nearing the town centre he grimaced. The people rushing through the streets, the noise from the shops and booths and the reek around brought his headache to a new level of torture. Vica darted him a concerned look. “Pain?”

“What?”

“You look like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s my normal face.”

“It isn’t. Your normal face is a mixture of arrogance and disgust and right now,” she paused to look him in the eye, then nodded to emphasize her words, “right now there’s something different in your expression.”

He snorted. “Anybody ever told you that you really know how to make compliments? A mixture of arrogance and disgust, unbelievable.”

She raised her hands apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t want to insult you. ”

He eyed her intensely. She seemed to mean her words, so he decided to tell her the truth. “Headache.”

Vica bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Your headache.”

“Why should you?” he asked.

“Because headaches suck.”

“But it isn’t your head hurting.” Lambert adjusted his sword belt.

“No, but you’re suffering.”

He looked at her. “And why the fuck should you care about that?”

She eyed him, gave a short smile and shook her head. “Y’know what helps with headaches?”

He sighed. “You’ll tell me anyway I guess.”

“Beer from Brugge.”

He ran his hand over his face. “Vica, my head’s nearly exploding. I won’t go to that fair!”

“But your headache won’t go away while we’re standing here either,” she objected. As if to support her point a group of children entered the street and started playing in Lambert’s earshot. Noticing his grimace, Vica reached out to him.

“What…”

She simply shook her head. “Just take my hand. I know a less frequented path. You’ll get your beer in no time. And rest assured, the Brugge booth isn’t at the fair’s center.”

He hesitated. “Don’t know if it’s wise to trust you.”

“Would it be wiser to stay here and let your headache worsen?”

He glanced over to the children who had started a new game. The essential part of it seemed to be crying from the top of their lungs.

 _The lesser evil_ he thought when he finally seized her hand. For a split second she stood still and looked him straight in the eye. Then she eventually she strengthened her grasp and pulled him with her.

If Lambert would’ve kept a list of things he had always wanted to do, running hand in hand with a strange girl through a noisy city wouldn’t have been on it. And yet, here he was, following her past rundown huts, through dusty alleys and several vegetable gardens. At least this time she had told the truth. It didn’t take long until they had reached the fair.

Letting go of Vica, Lambert took a look around. The paths between the myriads of booths were crowded by early visitors and merchants with vendor’s trays who roaringly touted their wares. He saw tents of soothsayers and storytellers, Fire-eaters and organ grinders slashed their way through the throng. At some distance there was a big stage where some musicians played a merry tune and not far from where they stood a man offered portrait drawings.

How naïve he had been to think that there couldn’t be anything worse city-wise than Oxenfurt in its native state. If the normal Oxenfurt was a bunch of drowners, Oxenfurt during the fair was a bunch of Leshens. Angry and hungry Leshens.

Vica, however, had an altogether different opinion of the ado around them. “Lovely here, isn’t it?”

“Marvellous idea, Vica,” he muttered under his breath.

“I know, I know,” she giggled, nodding to a booth a little away from the center. “There’s the Brugge booth. Let’s get your beer.”

Lambert followed her almost happy. And indeed, not only was the noise slightly more bearable when they’d reached the booth but the smell coming from it was in fact kind of tasty. He looked around and found a barrel to lean on. Fumbling a sachet from his belt, he glanced at her. “So, what do you wanna have?”

Her eyes wandered from his face to his belt. When she looked up again he saw surprise in her eyes. “You…”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he interrupted her, “you got me two contracts, this is your payment for it. Simple as that.”

Vica shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t want any payment for it.” Her voice sounded fierce.

“What was that?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I did it because I wanted to.” When his gaze got even more intense, she sighed. “Don’t take it personally, please. I simply like to keep my independence.”

“'Course. Like yesterday on that tree where your independence nearly broke your neck.”

She slightly tilted her head. “Thank you for rescuing me. Again. But you see, since I owe you my life already, adding anything else to that debt would be outright shameless.”

Before he could do more than open his mouth, she undid her braid and shook her head. The smell of herbs and fresh grass intensified. When she unfastened her armband and doffed her jacket, his curiosity triumphed over his anger.

“What the actual fuck are you doing there?”

Busy untying the bow on her tunica and adjusting the now quite liberal neckline, she shrugged. “Optimising my strategy in negotiations.” When she caught him looking at her breasts, she winked. “Seems to work.”

Lambert coughed, doffed one glove and scratched his cheek. “Thought you were a proponent of inner beauty.”

“I am. But unfortunately inner beauty won’t get me a discount.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “Scalloped beef and a big tankard of beer you said, huh?” Without waiting for a response she left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shoutout to all my readers for staying with me although the updates are really sparse these days! Thank you for your patience, all the kudos and the lovely comments! It's really appreciated! :)
> 
> A special thanks to the ever so lovely akhuna, WhiteWolfWhispers and BeenThere_DoneThat for their dear, dear comments for the last chapter!

Apparently Vica's neckline didn’t only get her a discount but also a wooden tray to carry their lunch. Halfway back to Lambert she nearly tripped over a roaming cat that bumped its head against her shin. Instead of cursing the dumb critter like any normal person would Vica smiled at it, hurried to Lambert, shoved the tray into his hands and exclaimed “Emergency” before she went back to the cat, knelt down and petted it for what seemed like an eternity.

With some surprise he noticed that he didn’t feel his usual annoyance or anger because she had the cheek to let him wait once more. He scratched his eyebrow while he tried to figure out what he actually felt. In the moment the term amusement came to his mind Vica decided that the petting session was over and approached him, a big smile on her face.

“Made a new friend?” he smirked.

“That's what he wants me to think,” she winked,”cats are masters of scheming. Bet he just wants some food.”

“Don't like cats either.”

She shook her head. “Don't get me wrong, I like them very much. Proud and independent and majestic creatures and it's so cute when they're bumping you with their head and when they're purring. But they're schemers nonetheless.” Vica shrugged. “But maybe that's just another sign of intelligence.”

He snorted. “If scheming's a sign of intelligence should I be worried about you?”

Vica gave him an attentive look. “Weren't you the one telling me that girls have no brain? Nothing to worry about, then.”

Lambert hesitated briefly. “You...you're a scholar, after all.”

She winked. “Thank you, Lambert.”

He furrowed his brow. “That wasn't a compliment.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. One thing he was fairly proud of was that he could always come up with a snarky remark. With her, however, things were different. In her presence his retorting skills seemed to be blocked or at least severely diminished. He snorted. “You done being cryptical? I'm hungry.”

Vica took a look around and nodded to a cluster of wooden boxes nearby. “Could we go there?”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because,” she smiled apologetically, “I'd like to sit while eating.”

Lambert gave her a questioning look. “Barrel here's not good enough for you?”

“'Course it is but it's a little cramped. And since you appreciate some personal space I thought the boxes over there would be more fitting.”

He sighed, went over to the boxes and sat down. Vica followed happily, chose a spot right beside him and crossed her legs. After tying her hair up she explained the food on the tray as if she was giving an academic presentation.

“I got you the scalloped beef mantled in roasted bread. Pretty famous in Brugge and quite tasty. Favourite meal of King Venzlaw. The cheese ripens for two months and is regularly coated with local herbs while doing so. The beer’s called “Brugge ambrée”, strongest brand they had, similar to the “Kaedwen Stout” I was told.”

He inspected his lunch. Meat looked fresh enough, the cheese smelled like it was edible and if the beer was indeed anything like “Kaedwen Stout” the girl had made a good choice. He nodded to the additional wooden plate on the tray.

“Call that a decent meal?”

“’Course. Those are the best wafers in the Northern Kingdoms!” she exclaimed with such conviction that Lambert thought it wise not to question it. So he simply handed her the wafers and a tankard with what smelled like mead. The girl took the plate and started something that seemed like a strange ritual. She ripped the wafers and piled the pieces. Then she took one piece after another, dipped them into the jam on the plate, rolled them into little balls and finally put them into her mouth. For a moment he considered to say something regarding her table manners but in case of this girl some things were better left unspoken. Besides she’d probably try to convince him that this was the best way to eat wafers in the Northern Kingdoms.

He took a deep gulp of his beer and used the opportunity to let his gaze wander to her cleavage.

“Thought I’m not attractive.”

He looked up and met her gaze. “Didn't look at you.”

Putting her tankard and her plate onto her lap she laced up her shirt again. “I know.”

“Not much to look at anyway.” he mumbled.

“I know,” she winked and put another piece of waffle into her mouth.

He narrowed his eyes and focused on his lunch. The beef was indeed rather tasty, so he decided to enjoy it. Who knew when he'd get the next decent meal?

When he was finished he put his plate on the tray. Vica took a sip from her tankard and cleared her throat. “Headache's better now?”

He gave her a little nod, she responded with a content smile.

“How much did you pay?”

She shook her head. Lambert sighed, fetched some coins from the pouch on his belt and put them on the box Vica sat on. When she wanted to retort something, he raised his voice. “I pay. End of discussion.”

“But...”

He glared at her. “No! You did something for me, I did something for you in return and that's that.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment and considered how to go on because he was on the best way to talk himself into a fury. And right now he had the strange feeling that it wasn't a good idea to anger or hurt Vica. “You're insisting on your independence, I pay the meal to keep mine. Sounds just?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Fine.” Lambert took a sip from his tankard. “Got a question.”

“Go ahead,” she darted him a curious glance.

He changed his position to get a better look at her. “The contract in Delberz. Why?”

“Because that man is missing his daughter and he needs someone to search for her.”

Lambert shook his head. “Why did you gave me the note?”

Vica drummed her fingers against her tankard. “Because that man is missing his daughter and he needs someone to search for her.”

He sighed audibly. “Got that the first time. But we both know what probably happened to that girl, right?”

“She's presumably dead.”

“Right. So what do you think I could do for the villagers? I’m not a necromancer, I can’t bring her back.”

Vica shook her head. “No, but you can give them certainty so they'll be able to mourn her and finally, at some point, go on with their lives. Besides,” she continued with a tinge of hope in her voice, “maybe she's alive and you can still bring her back.”

He shook his head. “And then they'll live happily ever after? Vica, this isn't how the world works. And what does certainty help?”

Vica furrowed her brow. “I am not THAT stupid, Lambert. Everyone dies and if you're living near the woods being killed by wolves or bears or some monsters is far more likely than to peacefully die in your sleep of old age. But...not knowing what happened to your beloved ones? Always hoping that they might come back when deep down you know that they won't? That's torture, Lambert. Nobody should have to endure that.”

He looked at her, disbelief in his eyes. That wasn't an answer he had expected of any human being, let alone of a carefree young girl. He scratched his neck. “That's very … compassionate of you, but you see, villagers aren't kings. What about the payment? Say it’s a werewolf, what if I get wounded? I'll need potions, herbs, bandages, maybe even a healer. Chances are that contract won't pay off.”

She emptied her tankard and put it on the tray. “But there's also a chance it will. Maybe talking to the man who wrote that note would answer your questions.”

Lambert shook his head. “I don't get it. What's your benefit out of that whole matter?” There lay honest curiosity in his voice.

She shifted her weight a little and shrugged. “Nothing.”

“That's not how people work.”

She shrugged again and Lambert felt rage boiling up. From the heap of things he absolutely despised, trying to keep something from him was one of the worst. “I want an answer.” His strident tone made her look up.

“Told you already. Was in Delberz to pick flowers, came across that contract on the notice board, thought you could be interested. End of story. Didn't cost me anything to ask you.”

He eyed her, searching for something in her expression that gave her away but he couldn't find anything. “So you're telling me you're doing all of this out of sheer kindness?”

“Seems so.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“ _Why?”_ The question he asked himself since he had met her. This girl was a walking riddle, worse yet than the ancient monsters Vesemir had told him about when he had been but a young witcher aspirant, shortly after the Trials. The ones that drove men mad by asking questions there weren't any answers for. Once their prey had gone crazy enough they feasted on it, enjoying the sweet taste of insanity. To be honest Vica didn't look like a monster but it was a well-known fact that appearance could be deceiving and after all she was a woman. A woman who wasn't willing to tell him the truth, since instead of answering she turned her head, jumped up and tugged on his sleeve.

“Lambert, look! There's a juggler!”

Besides from the fact that she was touching him again they both knew that this was a pretty lame distraction tactic. But Lambert persuaded himself that she was just a strange girl and her own insanity was the only reason for her strange behavior.

“Magnificient, Vica.” He stood up, took the tray and went to the booth. When he came back she was occupied with adjusting her armband while still watching the juggler. Lambert cleared his throat. “Will get my horse now.”

“You're riding to Delberz?” Her voice was full of hope.

He smirked. “We'll see.”

“May I,” she turned her face, looked at him and blew a strand of hair from her eyes, “come along? Got a lecture in half an hour anyway.”

His smirk grew wider when he gave her a brief nod. On their way she told him about the history of the city, its districts and attractions. Lambert had to admit that she wasn't all that annoying if one took no account of her hasty movements and her whimsical behaviour.

After they had gotten his stallion now known as _Fides_ back from the stables and Vica had given him two carrots from her bag, the blond girl fumbled with her hair and bit her lip.

“What is it?” Lambert demanded.

She shook her head. “If you should ever decide to come to Oxenfurt again, I thought that maybe we could meet again?”

He smirked. “Not my type.”

“I know,” she smiled, “thought you could tell me more about monsters.”

“I'm not a lecturer.”

“And I don't need any more book knowledge. You know those monsters, you're the one to hunt them down. Couldn't imagine a better teacher.”

He darted her an amused glance. “Reflects badly on the academy's professors.” He tightened his sword belt. “Listen...”

She interrupted him. “I'll pay.”

“You're a strange girl, Vica,” he answered with a resigned sigh.

She tried to suppress a grin, petted Fides' flank and looked at Lambert. “Time to bid you farewell.”

He paused adjusting the saddle bags and furrowed his brow. “Why should you?”

“Because that's what you do when someone leaves.”

He snorted. “Most people would celebrate when a witcher finally leaves.”

“But I am not like most people, Lambert.”

“Got a point there.” He put out his hand. “Fare thee well, Vica.”

She gave him her warmest smile, nodded and shook his hand. “Fare thee well, Lambert. All the best on the path.”

He didn't know what else to say, farewell scenes weren't anything he was familiar with, so he gave her a courteous nod, mounted his stallion and rode through the wooden gate. He resisted the impulse to look back. Would only give that girl the idea that he'd come back indeed.

He stopped at a signpost near the city walls and took a deep breath. Time to leave the last crazy days behind. “Well well, buddy. And now?” Lambert petted the stallion's temples, a gesture the chestnut answered with a content neigh.

He could head northwestern to Novigrad, southeastern to Ellander or even ride far east to Vengerberg or Guleta. But though he had the free choice of destination he followed a stupid little impulse and headed south, hoping to find a little village called Delberz.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long - once more. Thanks to everybody who's still following this story, your support means the world to me, really.  
> Big shoutout to the lovely @akhuna who was so kind as to proofread this chapter. :)

He regretted his decision the instant he saw the shabby rooftops of Delberz. Regretted that he had listened to the plea of a quirky girl that had brought him nothing but trouble. 

_And a room for the night, a free dinner and two contracts_ .

He paused for a moment. What was that? A touch of guilty conscience? Lambert snorted as he shortened the reins. He was a witcher, he had no conscience, let alone a guilty one. Besides, he had paid her back. And the things she had done did by no means compensate for the uneasy feeling that crept up his spine and made him grab his medallion as he passed the village's inn. It didn't vibrate. Of course not - because no monster was responsible for his discomfort, but memories. And memories – unlike monsters – couldn't be killed. Strong alcohol and beautiful women could numb them to a degree, but unfortunately he had neither at hand. So he had no option but to endure the painful reminiscences awoken by the smell of dust, hay and rotten wood, by the sound of laughter and clashing tankards from the inn, by the sight of poorly dressed women harvesting carrots and chatting with each other.

Lambert spat on the ground to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.  Cursing Vica's name  for following  her idea of naming his horse,  he dismounted Fides  and went to an old man sitting on a bench in front of a hut.

“Greetings. Searching for a man called Milan.”

The man scratched his massive white full beard as he gave Lambert a piercing look. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. A witcher.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Usually I'm the one to drag something. Preferably a monster's head. So, that Milan guy. Where is he?”

His counterpart didn't let himself get worked up by the witcher's snarky tone. “Your breed has become rare.”

“Many died of boredom during senseless chatter.”

The old man laughed, exposing an impressive lack of teeth. “Milan's the butcher, last hut on the right.“ He got serious again. “Are you here because of Darla?”

“If that's his missing daughter, yes,” Lambert answered, grabbing his chestnut's reins. Leading his chestnut around a big puddle, he could clearly hear the old man's mumbled response.

“Of no avail, she's gone far too long.”

The witcher agreed mentally before he knocked on the butcher's door. A stout man, presumably in his forties, opened and instinctively backed off when he looked at Lambert. “Sir, I...didn't...I haven't...”

Lambert rolled his eyes. Although being feared wasn't as bad as being loathed, the witcher hadn't any patience for hastily stuttered apologies right now. With his headache coming back everything he wanted was to get over and done with this fucking contract. “No, you haven't,” he sighed, “but I have. You're Milan?”

Wiping his fingers on the greasy apron he was wearing, the man nodded. “I...I am. Are you...interested in assorted cold meat?”

“Indeed,” Lambert snarled. “I love assorted cold meat. All the more if it comes from wyverns.” He rolled his eyes at the confused gaze the butcher gave him. “I'm a witcher, saw your contract. Missing your daughter, aren't you?”

Milan's expression turned sad. “Darla...my girl, she's nearly seventeen. She went to the woods to get firewood.”

“That's what the contract reads. When exactly did she go?”

The butcher raked a greasy hand through his hair. “Nearly three weeks ago.”

“At what time did she go?”

“Around noon. She wanted to be back by sunset. Usually she's such a reliable lass.”

The witcher sighed. “Is there a boy?”

“What do you mean?”

Lambert eyed him with a blank expression. “Maybe she ran off?”

“Never!” Milan said in disgust. “My Darla is a decent girl!”

_ For all the good it did her _ , Lambert thought. “Three week's a long time.”

The butcher sighed. “I know.” He slouched his shoulders. “I'm afraid something bad happened to her.”

“Makes two of us. But you wrote that you want her back.”

“Can you do that? Bring her back?” Milan asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.

“If I find her, I can bring her back home, sure. Question is in which state she'll be.”

“What...do you mean?” He fiddled with his apron, his tone stating that he knew very well what Lambert meant.

“I'm neither a healer nor a necromancer. Can't revive anybody,” he shrugged.

Milan gulped. “But you...if needed, you...can you bring her to me anyway?” His voice began to shake as he scratched his cheek. “I'd like to...we...my wife and me...want to bid her farewell if needed. Lass deserves a proper funeral.”

Lambert nodded. “I'll return her to you.” He paused for a moment. “Can you show me the way your daughter usually takes?”

Milan sighed with a mixture of relief and anxiety before he nodded to the village sign. “You can see the woods from here. Go straight forward until you come to a shrine of Melitele, there you turn right. Shortly after there's a clearing. That's her favourite spot for collecting firewood.”

“One more thing. My payment. What about the generous reward you offered?”

The other man nodded slightly. “Listen, master witcher. I...I wanted someone to go and find my daughter and the meaning of generous is relative...in times like these.”

Lambert crossed his arms and gave Milan a dangerous stare. “Listen, man. I'm a witcher, not  a mendicant friar ! As a butcher you should understand. I won't work for a friendly handshake.”

The butcher shook his head vigorously “No no! You...” he cleared his throat. “I...have some  coin . And you'll get ample provisions for your journey, I have some quality meat in the back of my hut. And if...I...do have a necklace from my mother.  Solid silver, you can sell it for a good price .”

Lambert eyed him suspiciously. Usually he'd start a discussion about a proper payment, but he didn't want to fuel his headache. So a simple “That necklace better be real silver” was the only thing he remarked before he mounted Fides and rode into the woods.

Half an hour of searching and a pack of wolves later, he flung the corpse of Darla, the butcher's daughter over his stallion - or rather what was left of it. Killed by wolves, several weeks into decomposition and gnawed at by at least five different species she hadn't much resemblance to a human being anymore, except for her dress and the long, dark hair.

Fides gave an unwilling neigh when he was confronted with his reeking luggage. Lambert petted his flank. “Feel you, buddy.” He wasn't fond that corpses didn't smell like rosewater, too, but life wasn't always a bowl of cherries. 

When they reached Milan's hut, he took a deep breath. Now the inconvenient part of the contract would start. When the butcher opened and saw the body on Lambert's horse, his reaction didn't disappoint.

After several minutes of crying he dragged his daughter from the stallion's back, cradled her, stroked her hair and rocked back and forth. In an attempt to exercise discretion, Lambert took his chestnut and led him to the water trough. While the horse was drinking, he took a cloth from the saddlebag, dipped it into the water and started wiping the saddle and the horse's back. When he was done he took a look around. A few women were still harvesting vegetables and darted him secret looks. After what seemed like an eternity, Milan approached him, his face puffy, his eyes red from crying. 

“Thank you, master witcher,” he said. Remarkably enough his voice didn't quiver. “Was it a monster?”

Lambert shook his head. “Pack of wolves. Hungry since the soldiers hunt down every deer they can find.”

Milan nodded slowly. “I see.” He wiped away a tear. “Your reward.” He pointed at his hut.

Leaving his stallion at the trough, he followed the butcher and waited at the doorstep. He saw that the man had brought his dead daughter inside and had laid her on a small cot in front of the fireplace. 

_ Her bed maybe? _

Before he could give any more useless thought to that matter Milan came back and handed him a small pouch. “Thirty coins and the necklace from my mother, as promised. I'm sorry I can't give you more.”

“News I brought aren't worth more,” Lambert said. He didn't know where those compassionate words had come from. Slip of tongue after a hard day probably.

He opened the pouch, counted the coins and inspected the necklace. Seemed to be solid silver, decorated with little glass beads. Not exactly the crown jewels of Cintra but the contract hadn't been dangerous, so he decided to leave it at that. Just  for  once of course. 

Milan coughed. “I'll get your supplies.” After some moments he came back with a nice-smelling package. “Assorted cold meat, bacon and hung beef.” He scratched his cheek. “Would give you eggs as well but my wife took the last one with her to the market.”

“'s alright,” Lambert said before he took the package.

“Good luck on your journey,” the butcher offered, once again nestling with his apron.

Lambert hesitated, closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Listen. With war around the corner and supplies being short, I guess you'll take what you can get. Killed those wolves. Still lying on that clearing. Go there, flay them, process their meat, sell their fur.”

“Master witcher, you…,” Milan eyed him in disbelief, “I...thank you!”

He put him off. “Did the job you paid me for. No additional thanks needed.”

Milan nodded. “You helped. You brought my Darla back and killed the wolves. Listen, my cousin is an inkeep in Oxenfurt. Name's Bedrich, inn's called 'The galloping cow'. Tell him I send you, he'll give you a room and a decent meal.”

_ Oxenfurt.  _ That city seemed to follow him like a curse.

Lambert swallowed. “Well...yeah. Very nice of you. Now you should prepare the funeral for your daughter I guess.” He scratched his beard while he turned around. “Goodbye.”

The last thought that came to his mind before he plunked himself onto his bedroll that evening, lying beside a hardly warming campfire in the middle of nowhere, was that the world was a mad place. That was yesterday's news to him but the amount of insanity he had witnessed over the last few days was pretty astounding. Searching for a comfortable position and closing his eyes he vowed that he would never return to Oxenfurt again, come hell or high water.

Half a day later however, on the road to Vengerberg, he met a liquor dealer who made him an offer no one in his right mind could refuse: He was willing to share his booze and pay a considerable amount of money if Lambert convoyed him. Usually he liked this type of contract. Quickly done, good-paying and with manageable risks. The catch here was the merchant's destination. Oxenfurt.

He wanted to decline the offer, he really did, but after a shared bottle of Mahakam spirit the prospect of returning to Oxenfurt didn't seem so horrible anymore. At least he knew where to get a room and something to eat. And since Lambert had never been known for being a man with strong principles, he agreed to the merchant's offer. The next morning, as the hungover reached its peak and he wondered why on earth he hadn't simply disappeared after emptying the bottle of booze, one word crossed his mind. A word that caused the same feeling of unease the sight of Delberz had caused.

_Destiny._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers,
> 
> I'm really sorry it took another 84 years to finish that chapter. It's not because I have lost interest in writing or exploring the story of Lambert and Vica. Rather a bunch of things are happening in real life right now.  
> I want to thank each and every one of you who takes time out of their day to read this story (or any of my one shots at that matter).  
> This really means a lot to me.  
> You're the best.

By the time the two men reached Oxenfurt, his client had talked a good deal about the subtleties of a good brandy. And since one could never have enough knowledge about alcohol, Lambert had listened intently while he rode along the merchant's cart and kept watching for monsters and bandits. But except for three pathetic brigands who couldn't counter with the steel of a witcher's sword, the journey went trouble-free.

When they reached Oxenfurt at nightfall, Lambert noticed several members of the city guard in front of the gate. They hadn’t been there when he had last left the town, but then again, the fair hadn’t really started by then. His mood fell on a dangerous low when he noticed the long queue of people waiting for admission. But once more the liquor dealer proved to be beneficial. Since he had attended the summer fair for several years he knew the drill by now. And at the price of three bottles of Kaedweni vodka, him and Lambert were allowed to enter the city without any waiting.

After saying their goodbyes, the two men parted. The liquor dealer, exactly knowing where to do good business, headed straight to the town square. Lambert however took a moment to enjoy the weight of the purse the merchant had given to him before he opened the bottle of self-distilled booze he had received for the promise to recommend the business of his client. Carefully, he took a sip.

_Strong._

He nodded with satisfaction before he took another gulp. He finally put the bottle into one of Fides’ saddlebags and took a look around. Ahead lay the town square, still crowded despite the late hour, cheery and drunk people laughing their way from one booth to another. Yes, the liquor dealer would make good coin this night. But for Lambert the hustle was a sure sign which way not to take. When a group of young loud men approached him, he led Fides into a little alley. The last thing he wanted now was an encounter with those ludicrous city boys. The witcher cast a side glance at the city gate. Leaving now would be the responsible thing to do. More responsible than walking around like an idiot in search for an inn with the stupid name of ‘Galloping Cow’. He wondered where on earth the namegiver had taken their inspiration from. When he knew anything about cows, it was that they didn’t gallop. But maybe they did in Oxenfurt. Putting some thought into it, this wouldn’t even be extraordinarily strange for this mental asylum disguised as a town.

A sound behind caused him to slow down. It was a strange noise, high-pitched and faint. Suddenly, the source of the noise began talking.

“You’re a witcher!”

Unfortunately, it sounded neither high-pitched nor faint any longer. As Lambert stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his worries came true. The sonorous bariton belonged to a bard. And the initial noise the witcher had heard was coming from the lute hanging over the other man’s shoulder and bumping to his flank as he walked. As Lambert eyed him he temporary feared to go blind. This man was an explosion of bright colors, expensive fabrics and vanity. Instead of answering the initial question, Lambert just stared at him, a steep furrow on his brow.

The bard flashed him a toothy smile and pointed at Lambert’s medaillon. “One of Geralt’s friends.”

Lambert snorted. “He’s more like an annoying brother to me.”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean,” his counterpart nodded while he fixed his purple beret, “he can be such a spoilsport.”

Not impressed by the lack of answering, he eyed Lambert intensively. “You’re not Eskel. That’s the one with the big scar across his face.”

 _And a preference of hairy women with horns_.

“So,” the other man pondered for a moment before the moronic grin found it’s way back to his face, “you’re the youngest one. Lambert.”

Lambert smirked. “Still several decades older than you.”

“I’m flattered, but...”

“Your behaviour’s pretty rude.”

The bard looked thunderstruck. “Excuse me?”

“Excusing you is well and good, but it would be an act of courtesy to finally tell me your name. And courtesy is vital to your profession, isn’t it?”

Of course Lambert was in no doubt as to who was standing before him. But the expression his little taunt had caused on the face of one of the most famous bards in the Northern Kingdoms had been absolutely worth it.

“I…,” the man raised his chin and tried to put on a proud tone, “am a well-known person throughout the realm, I…”

Charming way to introduce oneself, Lambert had to grant him that. Unfortunately he wasn’t in the mood for any kind of self-adulation, so he interrupted him once more. “Ah, now I remember. Dandelion. You’re the bard that consistently saves Geralt’s life. Or was it the other way round?” Lambert shrugged.

The other man bend his head a little. “I prefer the term “poet”. But it is true, I happen to have saved your witcher brother from a nearly deadly altercation more than one time.”

“Wish you had saved him from that black-haired witch.”

Dandelion laughed. “There’s no saving from love, my friend.”

This man went up on Lambert’s scale of annoyance very quickly. The witcher narrowed his eyes. “Do you call anybody you meet in an alley at nighttime your friend? Could lead to losing your belongings. Or your life, given you meet the right person.”

The bard shook his head. “As a poet I possess a fair amount of insight into human nature. Besides,” he made a little pause, “Geralt’s friends are my friends.”

Lambert sighed. He could lecture his counterpart on the fact that witchers weren’t human and that some of Geralt’s friends, him included, absolutely didn’t want to be friends with the bard, but his desire for a good drink and a bed were stronger. “Whatever. Searching for a certain inn. The ‘Galloping Cow’. Know where it is?”

Dandelion nodded. “I know every single inn in town. But the ‘Galloping Cow’’s not one I’d recommend. Beer’s mostly stale, beds are hard as stone and the barmaids aren’t exactly beautiful.”

“A pity. But a hard bed is better than no bed at all.”

The bard answered with a vigorous shook of his head. “We won’t spend our evening there. We’ll go to the ‘Nightcap’.

Lambert furrowed his brow. “We?”

“Yes.”

“And why should I go with you, Master poet?” He darted Dandelion a challenging look.

The bard shrugged. “Because the two of us could share the most adventurous stories.”

“That so?”

“Definitely, Lambert. Inn’s over there. Right beside the Thinker’s park.” He went in the inn’s directionbut turned around when he noticed that Lambert didn’t make a move to join him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Guess I just don’t wanna share any stories with you.” Lambert shrugged. “Besides, I need a bed for the night.”

Dandelion winked. “But I bet a smart man like you won’t decline the offer of free drinks, am I right?”

Lambert sighed and took his stallion’s reigns. “Will your good name get me a bed there, too?”

Dandelion flashed a triumphant smile. “Rest assured, you won’t have to spend the night on the street. But first things first, my dear witcher.”

An hour and a half later, his third tankard of beer nearly empty, Lambert still had to endure Dandelion’s ‘first things’. The bard’s florid monologues were only accompanied by the quiet talks of the few remaining other guests and the humming of the barmaid. A plump girl, obviously smitten with the self-proclaimed famous guest, judging from the longing looks she darted Dandelion. As he went on to tell a story about a mermaid he once had encountered with Geralt, Lambert promised himself to not base his next decisions on the prospect of free alcohol. But since he didn’t waste any time with listening to the bard’s fairytales, the witcher had ample opportunity to eye him thoroughly. Albeit his final judgement didn’t differ from his first impression at all: Dressed like a peacock. Purple jacket, embroidered. Expensive boots. And worst of all that ridicuolus beret with the white feather. If there was such a thing as a “How to dress like a stupid bard” list this man had obviously studied it well.

“There a guide on your profession’s clothing?”

Dandelion stopped dead in his monologue about how he single-handedly had rescued a nymph while Geralt had basically stood idle by and gave Lambert a confused look. “Not that I know of. You see, one of the most vital things to being a bard is to express your own personality, and clothing is such a wonderful way to do that. Just look at the embroidery of my jacket,” he stroked over the fabric as if it was a naked woman, “it represents...”

“Whatever. You should write one.”

“Write what?”

“A fashion guide for bards.”

Dandelion sighed. “As I’ve told you before, I prefer the term ‘poet’.” After a moment of silence, he smiled. “Apart from that, do you really think I should start an attempt?”

“Sure. You’re pretty much the embodiment of a ba...a poet.”

The bard’s smile grew wider. Lambert was pretty sure that if his ears hadn’t been in the way his grin would’ve formed a circle by now. Pathetic how easy it was to flatter him. Even more pathetic that he took poet as a compliment.

“There would be much need for such a guide, if I may say so. Many young fellows dress rather...unfelicitous.”

The witcher’s eyes narrowed. “A moment ago you said...”

“Sometimes diplomacy is key,” Dandelion interrupted him with a wave of his hand, “and the sad truth is that a lot of young poets and trouvères dress in a way that is in no way fit to help our profession get the respect and appreciation it deserves. For example, I once met a young poet at the court of Kovir in Pont Vanis. Lad had just finished his studies at the academy and traveled the world to get inspiration for his ballads. However, that guy wore a simple linen shirt under a plain jerkin.” Dandelion’s expression indicated that this was a deadly sin.

“Just imagine,” Lambert mumbled as he glanced to his own shirt made of the same fabric.

“Of course he didn’t get an invitation to sing at the court, the combination of bland clothing and boring melodies wasn’t fit to impress king Esterad. Needless to say that I did in fact spend the next two weeks at the court,” the bard added in a smug tone before he came back to the topic “If I think about it, I could cover other subjects in that guide as well, etiquette, rules for writing enjoyable songs, basically anything to become a good trouvère. I could call it ‘The complete compendium of trouvèreship’. Or ‘Poeting done right – a guide’.” He pulled a leaflet with his face on it – an advertisement for his latest concert in Bremervoord - and a pencil from his jacket and hastily scribbled down some notes.

After a sweet while of silence where Lambert could enjoy his fourth beer and eye the cleavage of the barmaid in peace, Dandelion’s bariton jolted the witcher out of his thoughts. “You’re a genius, Lambert!”

“’Course I am. And I have a truly genius addition for your guide.” Lambert bent forward and looked Dandelion straight in the eye. “Obligatory deep neckline for your female colleagues.”

The bard laughed and raised his tankard. “And with a commercial aptitude, too. To you, Lambert.”

The next hour and a half they spent elaborating on the right amount of visible bust on a female bard – essentially it came down to ‘the more the better’ - and enjoying another beer. As the city house clock strucked midnight, Lambert stretched his legs. “Pretty late.”

Dandelion sighed. “Time flies when you enjoy yourself.”

“Obviously. You talk to that barmaid about a room?”

The bard shook his head. “The rooms here are rented on a permanent basis.”

“Not my problem! You promised me a room, you’ll better get me one!” Lambert growled. Beer had been fine and dandy but the thing he had looked really forward to was a bed. In fact that had been the only prospect that had made coming back to Oxenfurt bearable. Well, besides the good payment from the liquor dealer of course.

Dandelion stood up, raised his hands in an appeasing manner and went to the bar, his steps a little shaky. When he came back he made a serious face “Fear not, my dear Lambert, for I know exactly where to spend the night.”

His exaggerated way of talking might get him laid on a regular base, but it also fueled Lambert’s headache. “Listen, bard. I’m not in the mood for sleeping under the stars, no matter how romantic you think that is.” He stood up, nodded to the barmaid and gave her most prominent attributes a last look before he headed to the stables and got Fides.

Dandelion waited outside, his right hand on his lute. “Don’t you worry, I know the perfect place to stay. We’ll both enjoy it, of that I’m sure.”

“We?” Lambert asked suspiciously as they made their way through the small streets of the town, across little huts and stores.

“Of course. As they say, who sins together, stays together.”

“Or ends together on one of Radovid’s stakes.”

Dandelion sighed dramatically. “You don’t get impaled for drinking beer and watching girls.”

“Not yet that is”

“What is it with you witchers? You’re an awful gloomy lot!”

“Rather we’re realists in a world full of gloom.”

Dandelion gave him a strange look. “Nice attempt, but realistic portrayals don’t sell very well.” He shook his head. “Whatever. Private house, clean beds. Let’s go.”

“And with private house,” Lambert smirked, “you mean a brothel?”

“I said clean beds. Unlikely to find in a common brothel,” he gave the witcher a sideway glance, “and I don’t know what about you, but I rather wouldn’t sleep in a brothel. Unpleasant surprises the next morning, fleas and missing purses to name but a few.”

“Sounds like you’re an expert on such encounters.”

Dandelion stopped in his tracks and stared at him. “Is that a proper way to repay my amicability?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that much passion from the bard.

“Thought so,” the bard nodded. “So, if you don’t want to spend the night beneath the stars – which can be really romantic with the right company, rest assured – you’ll follow me. And be a little more agreeable. Our host will be thankful as well.”

Lambert sighed. “Got it.”

Either he was too tired or too drunk to care, but he didn’t get suspicious when they took the way to the university. He didn’t ask when they entered the gate or when Dandelion led him to the stables to give Fides in. After all, the bard gave lessons here, so he probably had his own rooms in one of the staff buildings. As they stopped in front of an old, two-stocked house in the typical wooden style of Oxenfurt, with timber frameworks and a pointy roof, Lambert nodded to the door. “Your house or are we staying with one of your staff mates?”

Dandelion shook his head before he knocked. “Well, the connection I have to the house owner is a more personal one.”

As Lambert tried to process what that could mean, the amount of beer he had doing nothing to help his wits, the door was opened with a sharp creak. the both men were greeted with the sight of a messy blond mane, a big smile and the smell of fresh grass and herbs. Lambert felt a strange sensation in his stomach when he realized just who stood in front of them.

Their host however, didn’t seem to be surprised about getting a visit at this late hour. Or about the kind of visitors, whatsoever. Instead, she joyfully greeted and hugged Dandelion, indicating just _how_ personal their connection was. Finally she turned to Lambert, her smile wide enough to show her little tooth gap. “Nice to see you again, Lambert.”

He didn’t know where the strange feeling in his stomach came from, nor why his voice was so hoarse as he answered.

“Vica.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers,  
> I'm so glad that every single one of you exists. Thank you so much that you read, like and comment on this story. Sadly real life interfered with my writing in the last few months, in a pretty harsh way. That's why it took me forever (again) to complete the next chapter. But finally, here it is. I hope you have fun, comments are welcome, as always. All the love to you!

“You KNOW each other?” the bard asked, his eyes wide in amazement.

Vica winked at him. “Kind of.”

“Splendid! Marvellous!” Dandelion fumbled a pencil and a piece of parchment from his jacket. “Tell me everything about it! This sounds like abundant substance for a new ballad!”

“We don’t KNOW each other!” Lambert interrupted, a steep furrow in his forehead. “We had some random encounters, nothing more.”

After he had noted down something, Dandelion gave the witcher a thrilled look. “What type of encounters are we talking about?”

Lambert rolled his eyes. Unfortunately the alcohol didn’t seem to affect the bard’s inquiry skills at all. “Useless ones.” When he saw Vica unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grin his tone got even more strident. “And don’t you dare writing a fucking ballad about me or her or anything else!”

Dandelion tilted his head. “Why Lambert, my dear friend. I am a poet, and as such it is my duty as well as my honour to write ballads about the many fantastic things happening here, there and everywhere on the continent.”

Vica, in an attempt to stop the witcher from breaking either Dandelion’s lute or his neck, chimed in and gave the men her brightest smile. “Lambert, Dandelion, I know that the night is mild and beautiful and fresh air is very beneficial for our health but maybe we could continue this lovely talk in the kitchen?” When she saw Lambert’s irritated look, she added quickly. “Well, we have chairs and drinks and...I made cookies earlier this evening.”

“Cookies?” Lambert asked, his voice flat.

The girl nodded happily. “Cookies. The bees from the testing grounds have produced quite a lot of honey this year and the student being in charge of them, Timmen, is coincidentally hopelessly in love with a second year girl from the faculty of law, so I made him a bouquet from wild flowers he could give her and got a jar of honey in return. Do you like cookies, Lambert?”

Before he could answer, the bard squeezed past him into the house and, after doing a somewhat unsteady half turn, nodded. “Her cookies are delicious, if I may say so.”

“You may,” Vica laughed, “and you may make way for Lambert. Not that he gets the impression that I don’t know how to treat guests properly.”

Lambert gave her a disdainful snort before he entered the house. He followed Dandelion into the kitchen, where he paused for a moment. The whitewashed walls, the hearth with its neatly arranged pots and pans and the simple wooden table seemed as much out of harmony with the whimsical girl who lived here as the wood-paneled corridor he had crossed earlier.

Vica’s hand on his arm tore him out of his thoughts. “Take a seat, Lambert. Do you want something to drink?”

A big shot of Vodka would be great, he thought. It probably wouldn’t help him to make any sense out of his current situation but at least it would increase Lambert’s tolerance for annoying bards.

Instead, trying to be responsible for once, he simply demanded some water and took the seat next to Dandelion, who had asked for mead.

Vica gave Lambert one of her warm smiles as she handed the drinks to her guests and sat down across the witcher. When she saw his skeptical look she smiled. “The water’s alright, don’t worry. There’s a cistern behind the house, with some kind of progressive water pumping system. You can ask someone from the Faculty of Engineering for further details, but the water’s clean, promised.”

As Dandelion chuckled, Lambert gave Vica a stern look. “I’m a witcher, I’m immune to dirty water.”

“That sound’s awfully practical,” she nodded slowly. “What’s the matter, then?”

Lambert shrugged. “You sure that you’re living here?”

“Last time I checked, yes," she answered drily.

“You don’t look like it.”

Vica and Dandelion exchanged a look before the girl curled a strand of hair around her finger. “And how exactly do I look?”

Lambert pointed at her light blue shirt. “More...coloured.”

Dandelion broke out laughing. “See, Vica? I’ve always told you you should give the house more of a personal touch.”

“The problem is that this isn’t MY house, I’m only living here. The academy leadership wouldn’t be delighted to hear that I decided to paint one of their buildings in bright colors.” She rolled her eyes. “They are hopelessly conservative, Lambert.” She took another sip from her glass. “But rest assured, my room has a more personal touch. You know, colours and stuff.”

Dandelion bent over to the witcher. “This, my dear friend, has been an invitation. Take advice from an experienced man like me: Seize this opportunity! Or, as the old philosophers put it,” he laid his beret on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, “"Carpe diem.””

As Lambert looked at Vica, she raised an eyebrow. The witcher snorted. “Is sharing your girlfriend a common thing here in Oxenfurt?”

This time it was on Vica to burst out laughing. “Dandelion would rather share his lute than his women.”

The bard shook his head. “Vica, you’re preposterous! I would never share my lute, either! An instrument as well as a woman have to be treated with respect, care and gentleness. So, both would be incredibly disenchanted should they have to endure the touch of another man after they’ve known mine.”

The girl bent forward and glanced at the bard, amusement in her eyes. “Well then, Master enchanter. Corridor down, door to the right. Your  _girlfriend_ ," she emphasised the phrase with a sideglance at Lambert, "has been waiting for your gentle caresses for weeks now. Guess you should go and make sure that she doesn’t feel as lonely as to seek for another man with certain...qualities.”

The bard smirked. “My lovely Anneke is far too smart as to search for insubstantial distraction while I’m away.”

Vica shrugged. “Well, the fair’s started. And there are plenty of young lads who seem to have read the old philosophers as well and can’t wait to,” she winked at him, “seize the opportunity. Especially if said opportunity comes with such a beauty as Anneke’s. And I guess, my dear Master poet, the distraction they have to offer is not quite as insubstantial as you think.”

Lambert took a gulp from his mug.  Not that he cared at all, but the relationship between Dandelion and Vica obviously wasn't as intimate as he had initially thought. However, it didn't lack a certain amount of entertainment. As annoying as the girl could be, she was witty. And clever enough to keep the bard in his place. That spoke for her. 

Dandelion fumbled with his jacket, a suspicious expression on his face. “Did she tell you about any...incidents?”

The blonde girl leant back and crossed her arms in front of her. “She is not your property, Dandelion. And I guess you encountered some incidents on your journey as well.”

As the bard wanted to answer, she shook her head. “No. I don’t wanna hear your lament about men having certain needs.”

The bard drummed his fingers on the table. “But Anneke LOVES me. She’d never...”

Vica snorted. “Thought you love her too?”

“Of course I do!”

Vica stood up, took Lambert’s and Dandelion’s mugs and topped up their drinks. As she placed the mead in front of the bard, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “You know that I don’t believe in love. And frankly, I’m not the one to judge you or anybody else. But, my dear Dandelion, believe it or not, women have needs, too.”

Lambert eyed her. He'd never heard of a woman who didn't believe in love. A thought already known to him crossed his mind again. _Maybe there was much more to her than what she had shown him over the past few days._ Or he was just tired _._ He blinked a few times. Yes, probably the latter. When Geralt talked about his contracts they always sounded most exciting when Lambert was on the edge of falling asleep.

Dandelion glanced up to Vica. “If that means what I think it does...”

She shook her head. “It means that actions speak louder than words.” She grinned when she saw the bard’s amused look. “Maybe you could try to control yourself a little. Volume-wise. The guest room is above Anneke’s room and Lambert is a witcher. You know, supersensitive hearing and so on.”

Lambert snorted. “Sure I’ve heard worse. Dying sirens for example.”

Dandelion grimaced. “Sounds lovely, dear friend. But, as you’ve heard, I’ve duties to fulfill. I wish both of you a splendid night,” he said as he stood up.

Vica shook her head. “Could you please wait another minute? I’ll prepare the guest room. I’ll hurry.” Flashing Lambert a bright smile, she sprinted out of the kitchen.

The bard inspected his beret and eyed the witcher over the purple fabric. “A picture of vibrant mirth, that one.”

 _Which kind of person outside of a poetry book spoke like this?_  

Lambert smirked at the poet. “Yes, bet it cost you half a fortune. And that cute little feather, really...sublime.”

Dandelion tilted his head and sighed. “Oh Lambert, we both know that I speak of Vica. Good thing is, she seems to like you.”

“That girl is not vibrant. She is an annoyance.”

“How’s that? She invited you into her house.”

“She didn’t,” Lambert adjusted his sword belt, “You brought us here. And besides, she doesn’t like me. She simply can’t grasp the concept of personal space.”

Dandelion looked at Lambert, amusement in his eyes, as he put his beret back on the table and sat down again. “I see the way you look at each other.”

“I try to avoid looking at her as often as possible!”

“Just so.” The bard stroked his carefully trimmed beard and winked at the witcher. “Sleep well, my friend. And if your desire to look at her should awake, her room is towards the guest room. I, however, will now go and please my sweet peach Anneke.” He took his beret, indicated a bow and left the kitchen.

Lambert watched him, feeling the anger in him rising by the second. _What’s got into the head of this conceited, feckless would-be poet?_ He jumped to his feet, emptied his mug and went to the corridor, where he ran straight into Vica. To prevent them both from falling, Lambert had to grasp her waist and pull the girl close to him. They had stood like this for a moment, her smell of herbs and grass lingering between them, her smile as bright as ever, when she finally spoke.

“Thank you for saving me again. But I guess you can let go now.”

Still staring at her he pulled his hand back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Bed’s ready?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Sorry you had to wait, I had to dust the room a little. It’s been a while since it’s been used the last time.”

“Thought women have needs too?”

She gave him a wink as they went up the stairs. “Those kind of needs aren’t likely to be met when the two persons involved aren’t in the same room.” She opened a door and went inside. He followed her and looked around. A typical guest room. The bed seemed old, but stable; there was a table, a chair and a little cupboard with a wooden bowl on top. A bucket filled with water stood near the cupboard.

Vica gazed at Lambert. “It’s not one of those fancy guest houses you can find in Novigrad, but it’s clean. And your window goes out to the water.”

“So it’ll reek of piss and shit when I open it? Nice.”

“Oxenfurt does have a quite refined sewage system as you should know since you’ve taken that contract down in the sewers. The Pontar’s clean here. But speaking of sewage, the latrine is behind the house." She shrugged. "But you can keep the window shut of course, just as you like."

Lambert glared at her. But, as usual, this did nothing to affect the girl's mood. She smiled. “Is Fides in the stables?”

“Guess so,” he snarled.

Vica nodded. She bit her lip, fiddled with her hair and finally cleared her throat. “May I ask if you've you been to Delberz?”

Lambert crossed his arms, walked over to the window and looked outside. “Girl, judging from the moon’s position it’s about two hours past midnight. I’m fucking exhausted and definitely not in the mood for storytime. The only thing I’ll do before I go to bed is taking off my clothes.” He eyed her. “You should do the same.”

Her almost shy behaviour instantly forgotten, Vica gave him a bold grin. “What now? Strip down or go to bed?”

That left him thunderstruck for a moment. “I...” But before he could come up with a clever remark she laughed.

“Sleep well, Lambert. If you should need anything, my room is opposite yours.”

He nodded. When Vica went to the door, he took a deep breath. “Thank you, I guess.”

In a swift motion she turned to face him, nearly tripping over her feet. Her eyes were gleaming. “You’re very welcome, Lambert.”

For a moment, his look became almost soft. Fortunately it was so dark that the girl couldn’t see that slight loss of control over his facial expression. He scratched his cheek. “Good night, Vica.”

“Good night, Lambert,” she said, still grinning, before she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Lambert took a deep breath. He still couldn’t make any sense of this. Not at all. And he probably shouldn’t try to in the middle of the night. He lighted the candle stumps on the table with a quick Igni, opened the window – Vica had been right, there was no stench coming from the river - and then started to take off his armour. A few minutes later he lay on the bed, pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and took a deep breath. As he closed his eyes, the so far muffled noises coming from downstairs became terribly prominent. They didn’t remind Lambert exactly of a siren, neither dead nor alive, but more of an opera instead. An awfully inharmonic one by the way. But what the bard and his playmate lacked in melodics, they sadly made up for in volume. Lambert sighed, turned around and counted. They couldn’t bang forever, he told himself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Finally, it is there, the next chapter of Lambert's and Vica's story. Im really sorry, that it took ages again to update, but life and working full-time since January and ocassional writer's block wasn't the best support for maintaining a regular writing schedule. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who are still with me, reading and enjoying this story. You're the best and your support and kind words mean the world to me. Thank you!

On the upside, he had been right. They hadn’t banged forever. But instead of sleeping or eating or doing anything remotely normal afterwards, the bard and his playmate had decided to tune their lutes and sing. After the third song – an ardent version of “The yellow rose of White Orchard” - Lambert was finally so fed up that he left the bed, threw his trousers and shirt on and went straight to Vica’s room. If he couldn’t find any sleep, why should she be any better off?

Opening her door, he stopped dead in his tracks. The little room was crammed, to say the least. He needed a moment to focus.

She hadn’t lied, the room was colourful. There were painted tendrils all over the walls, probably depicted by herself. Dried flowers hung from the ceiling, kitsch and souvenirs were spread all over. There was a small selection of different rocks tied to a strange wooden construction on the wall, a music box on the shelf above her bed, a collection of quills on the desk. Even more prominent than her artistic decoration was the amount of books in this room. They were cluttering her desk, the chair before her desk, the table in the middle of the room, the shelves on the wall and parts of the floor. To Lambert’s surprise Vica had been sensible enough to leave a trail to her bed blank. He approached the girl, avoiding the pair of boots she had thoughtlessly kicked off.

Vica lay on her back. She had braided her hair before going to bed, the plait resting on her pillow. Her blanket laid crumpled at the end of her bed, so the only thing to keep her warm was the undergarment she wore. Plain, undyed cotton, but at first glance from good quality.

_Suits her better than the rest of her hideous clothes._

He couldn’t help smirking when he noticed her nipples standing out against the fabric of her camisole.

_Much better._

He watched her for a moment – her peacefully closed eyes; her right hand hanging over the bedframe, the fingers still ink-stained; her legs, long and pale and with bruises of different colours. Being as clumsy as her probably wasn’t the best requirement to work with wild animals. Suddenly he remembered her climbing up a tree on the campus to save that young lynx. And he remembered what had happened afterwards – as she had fallen directly into his arms, looking at him, smiling her wide smile that showed the little gap between her upper front teeth...

 _Wait._ _Where came that nonsense from?_

He definitely wasn’t here to think fondly of the girl in front of him. He shook his head, then took the few steps to the window and shut it louder than necessary. Only a foolish girl like her would happily let the late spring night breeze into her room and think it a good idea to sleep without a blanket.

“I like it better when it’s open,” Vica mumbled.

“Doesn’t mean it’s reasonable.” Lambert turned around and faced her. “You also like combining red and blue.”

She gave him a tired smile before she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Can’t sleep?”

He snorted. “’Course not! Your friends celebrate an orgy down there.”

Vica grinned. “If you ask nicely maybe they’ll let you join.”

“Say fucking what?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Just a thought,” she shrugged before she stood up, stepped over a pile of books and took a shirt off her chair.

Before she put it on, Lambert cast another look at her breasts. He scratched his head. “Bet your bed’s more comfortable than mine.”

For a few moments she just looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Is that...some sort of flirting?”

“No!” He answered, probably a little too fast. “I’d never flirt with you!”

“Of course not.” She winked at him, her astonishment instantly forgotten. “I’m sorry, but my bed isn’t any different from yours. Believe me, I tested both when I moved in. Besides, you’ll hear Dandelion and Anneke in here just as well as in your room.”

He groaned. For a while they both watched each other, none of them quite knowing what to do next. Then Vica began to giggle.

“What is it now?”

Still grinning, she shook her head. “Situation’s quite strange. Would make a great scenario for one of Dandelion’s ballads.”

Now even Lambert couldn’t suppress a grin. “Too much clothes for one of those ballads.”

“I see. Definitely not flirting.”

Before he could answer, she winked at him. “May I ask you something in a totally non-flirting way then?”

He nodded.

“Could you light some candles, please?” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I know, the moon’s pretty bright, but my eyes aren’t as good as yours.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Glad that he could do something more useful than searching for a clever comeback, he lit the candles on the table with a swift movement of his fingers.

“Thank you,” she smiled before she nodded to the bed. “Wanna sit down?”

“Why?”

“To prove that my bed isn’t more comfortable than yours,” she shrugged, “and it’s a little silly if we both stay here like chess figures.”

He had to admit that she was right, so he cleared his way through the books and plunked down on her mattress. True enough, it wasn’t any more convenient than the one in the guest room, but there was still a little warmth from her. Not that the fact that it was _her_ body warmth was in any way relevant, but when she sat down next to him he was, for once, not complaining.

“You always have trouble sleeping?” she asked, fidgeting to find a comfortable position.

“Why?”

As she had drawn one leg up to her chest, she looked him in the eyes. “Because I guess the noise on Temeria’s streets is worse than what Anneke and Dandelion come up with.”

“Think again,” he smirked. As she continued looking at him, he sighed. “Clever as you are you should know it’s a stupid idea to sleep like a log in the open. Lot of dangers there. Bandits, monsters, sorceresses.”

“Sorceresses?” Vica raised an eyebrow. When Lambert blinked at her, she laughed. “You’re making jokes now?”

“Actually, my sense of humour’s quite legendary.” He gave her a short, but honest smile before they both fell silent. As the bards below them started a new tune, he eyed her. “What’s between you and Dandelion?”

“We’re friends.”

“Just that?”

She nodded. “Met him in my first year here. Whenever he’s in Oxenfurt, he gives lectures at the academy. Makes good money out of it.”

“Thought you’re studying nature history and not singing?”

“Actually it’s called the “Faculty of Trouvereship and Poetry”,” she smiled widely. “You see, when I came here I was afraid to miss something important out, so I went to lectures from other faculties whenever I had the time.” She bit her lip. “Still do sometimes.”

He nodded. “A real exemplary student.” This time, there was no bite in his voice.

“Not really,” she shook her head, but her blazing red cheeks spoke another language. “Whatever...it happened that Dandelion was the lecturer on that day. Told us about different rhyme schemes.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Not the most interesting topic indeed, but I mean, you know Dandelion, he was so absorbed in the matter and he absolutely loves to hear himself talk, so all in all, it was quite hilarious.”

Lambert snorted. “Whole guy is hilarious.”

“That’s a bit hard. Dandelion’s a good heart and he’s there when you’re in need. See, he got you a bed tonight.”

“His good heart doesn’t stop him from disturbing other people’s sleep,” he muttered. He cast a look at Vica. “What happened then? You won’t have me believe that you’re friends with all of your lecturers, would you?”

“No,” she winked at him, “some of them are plain boring. Or arrogant.” She shifted a little to the right, reducing the gap between her and Lambert. “Well, a few days later I went to an inn with some people from my zoology course. Dandelion happened to be there, too. A few girls went over to him and begged him to play some of his most known ballads. Of course he indulged. And of course he sat down at our table to do so. At some point he asked me if he should play something for me as well.”

“Should he?”

Vica grinned. “He should.”

“Let me guess. One of the sloppiest ballads in the Northern Kingdoms. With verses about looks so longing that it hurts and hearts breaking because some fucking knight can’t muster up the guts to ask his fair maiden out?” He made a disgusted noise.

“Seems you have heard quite a lot of those ballads,” her grin got wider.

Lambert snorted again. “Had a teacher with a ridiculous fondness for those kind of songs.”

She answered with an exaggerated sigh. “Life’s rugged sometimes.”

“What could a girl like you know about life?”

As she wanted to answer, he shook his head. “Tell me, what song did you want to hear?”

Vica shifted her weight again. “A song about the Werewolf of Ard Skellig.”

“The one who devoured the Jarl’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Strange choice.”

Vica smirked at him. “Perfect choice for someone not knowing anything about life.”

“I...”

She shrugged. “Anyway, I always liked the way the ballad’s written. From the Werewolf’s point of view, showing that there’s a person behind the monster.”

“That’s...” he cleared his throat. Again, he didn’t know what to say.

“...exactly the same reaction Dandelion had. Well, after he had performed the song, he ordered a bottle of wine. We talked, we laughed and at the end of the night we were officially friends or something like that.”

“So you took him home and you fucked.” Proud of his decent retort, he smirked.

“No. We’ve never slept with each other.”

“Why not?” he gave her a quizzical look.

She smiled. “Not his type.”

_What was the right response to something like that?_

Lambert shrugged. “He doesn’t seem like the picky type.”

“Oh, but bards have certain standards. And a famous _trouvere_ like Dandelion can have the prettiest women in the Northern Kingdoms.” She grinned. “At least that’s what he always says.”

“You’re not ugly.”

_What the fuck?_

He wasn’t sure whom of them looked more surprised. As Vica began to blush, he swallowed hard. “I mean...”

He could’ve sworn that Vica’s smile became unsteady for a moment, but her voice was clear and firm as she answered. “Not compared to a ghoul, no.” She hesitated. “Thank you, I guess.”

“This wasn’t a compliment,” his answer came, only a little too fast.

“I know.”

The following silence was, strangely enough, not uncomfortable. Vica being as close to him that he was able to feel her warmth through the fabric of his shirt wasn’t either. The fact that he actually enjoyed her presence, however, was. He shifted his weight a little, causing another whiff of her grass-and-herbs-scent to fill his nose. Thoughts started to form in his mind.

_Stupid thoughts._

He had to do something about it. Now. Raking his fingers through his hair, he pondered. He could just jump up and leave, this would probably the reasonable solution. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a reasonable man. And for whatever cause, he didn’t want to go now.

“You have something decent to drink here?” His voice was a little husky, but he was satisfied with himself. 'When in doubt, have a good shot of booze' was still the only wisdom he’d ever need.

Vica looked at him. “Alcohol?”

“Something decent,” Lambert nodded.

Her eyes began to beam. “Luckily, I do.” Her hand brushed over his thigh while she left the bed. It felt good.

_High time he got a drink._

Vica went to a wardrobe next to the door, tip-toeing her way through the course of books. She opened it and with a quick movement she pulled out a big, dark glass bottle. She hurried back to the bed. As she had retaken her seat, she grinned at Lambert. “You don’t need a mug, right?”

He eyed the bottle. “Forget about the mug, but what the hell is that?”

“An experiment,” she answered deadpan.

“A what now? Stuff looks as if it could kill somebody.”

Vica tilted her head. “I guess you’re not wrong. In the right dosage it probably _could_ kill somebody. But it hasn’t killed me or any of my classmates so far and since you’re a witcher with a certain immunity to toxins, a little home-brewed spirit won’t hurt you.”

He took the bottle and swirled it. The liquid was clear, there was no sediment or visible contamination. He uncorked the bottle and brought it to his nose. He smirked. “Strong stuff.”

“Yes.” She gave him a questioning look. “Your behaviour seems pretty professional.”

“Certain experience in distilling.”

“Alcohol?”

Lambert nodded. “As well.”

Vica’s eyes got big. “Oh, you mean potions and concoctions, yes? Would you tell me something about it, please?”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “You’ve drunk that stuff here?”

“Yes. It’s from the last student’s council meeting. Everyone drunk from it. And we’re all safe and sound. Promised.”

Lambert furrowed his brow. “Hope not everybody drunk from that bottle here.”

“Of course not! It’s just the leftover,” Vica giggled.

“Hope so,” he mumbled before he took a gulp. The booze tasted interesting, to say the least. A rough, intense flavour, almost like…

“Mandrake?”

She nodded. “Yes. And Gentian. Oh, and strawberry essence to make it smoother. You like it?”

“Obviously.” He took another gulp before he handed her the bottle. “You breed mandrakes in the university?”

“Few things we don’t breed here. All for science, you know?” She took a sip before she faced Lambert. “One of science’s perks is that you can process almost anything into booze.” She grinned. “I’m sorry. ‘Alcoholic beverage’ would be the scientific correct term.”

Lambert eyed her, a warm feeling in his stomach – that came solely from the strong alcohol. Or at least that was what he tried to persuade himself of.

“Anything wrong?” Vica asked, trying to read his look.

“You still got the bottle.”

After she had handed it over to him, her fingers lingering on his longer than necessary – and way shorter than he would’ve liked it - he drank again.

“Why are you like this?” He asked suddenly.

Vica blinked in surprise before she took the bottle from him. “That’s one for the philosophy classes, I guess.” She took a deep gulp. “And there will always be someone asking back ‘Why not’?”

“So this quirky behaviour, that kindness-bullshit. All that, just out of spite?” He eyed her, now really curious.

“Kindness is neither bullshit nor something I do out of spite,” she stated, handing him the bottle back.

“Humans have never been nice to witchers. They spat on us since the beginning of time. Why should you be any different?”

 “Just because something’s done a certain way since forever doesn’t mean it’s right. I want to be nice, so I am nice. Easy as that.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve already told you. Being a witcher is just your profession. Behind that, you’re Lambert.”

“Even more reason for you to hate me,” he mumbled, turning the bottle in his hand.

“Why?”

Lambert snorted. “You’re the scholar here. Make an educated guess!” As he saw nothing but confusion in her eyes he sighed. “Since we met I treat you like shit. And the meaner I get the nicer you become. That’s...”, he shook his head,” that’s not how it works.”

Vica shrugged. “That’s totally how it works for me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Often, aggressiveness is just an attempt to be strong. And working as a witcher you have to be strong. You can’t be insecure or vulnerable. Plus, you have to deal with really mean people, underpaying and insulting you. So I guess it’s easier to act aggressive. It’s like a shield, right?”

Lambert swallowed. “Wrong. Maybe I’m just an asshole.” He gave her the bottle.

Emptying it with one last gulp, she grinned. “You’re not. An asshole wouldn’t have granted me the last bit of booze.” She shook her head. “And you would treat Fides differently if you were a bad person.”

“You’re a strange girl, Vica.” His voice was low.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she put the empty bottle in front of her bed and adjusted her shirt. Lambert simply watched her. Not knowing what to say, not able to identify the feeling in his stomach. Then, he couldn’t even say why, he untied the leather band that held her braid.

“Like it better that way,” he stated as he saw Vica’s confused look.

She nodded, as if that would explain his stupid behaviour. Undoing her braid completely, she smiled again. “I like your hands.”

“You...what?”

“I like your hands.”

He cleared his throat. “Not exactly a bard’s hands.”

“Fortunately not,” she smiled, “They’re soft and seem kinda blank. Your hands are rough and calloused and scarred and full of character.”

_Definitely one way to put it._

He scratched his beard. “Thought all girls like well groomed bard hands.”

“Generalisations are unreasonable.”

“It’s not a generalisation if almost all people are like this.”

She frowned. “How do you know? You can’t probably know almost all people.”

“I know enough people to know.”

“See, this is what generalisation means. Extrapolating from a sample to the generality.”

Vica didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she put her hand on his, her fingertips slowly stroking over a scar a Howler in Lindenvale had given him several years ago. “Whatever, I like your hands.”

Lambert looked at his hand as if something had paralyzed him. Her hand on his felt good. Really good. Too good. He wanted more of it. Wanted more of _her._ And although a small part of him screamed that what he was about to do was absolutely lunatic, he leant over to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her. And Vica, being as unreasonable as she was, kissed him back. Eagerly.

Lambert enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed her warm lips and playing with her tongue, enjoyed the taste of her. As Vica finally broke the kiss to get some air, he moaned. As their eyes met, she smiled. Reason enough to not waste any more time. He kissed her again, fiercer this time, his lips wandering from her mouth to her neck. As he felt her hands in his hair and heard her sigh, he put one arm around Vica’s back. Together they lay down and Lambert put his hand under her shirt.

_Too much fabric._

Somehow they managed to undress themselves without falling off the bed. As his eyes wandered over her naked body, he smiled. Yes, she was too slender for his taste, her breasts too small, her hips too slim, but right now there was nothing about her he would’ve wanted any other way. He let his hands wander over her breasts, playing with her nipples, making her moan. He stroked her waist, her hips, her butt.

He tried to concentrate on her touch, her warm fingers caressing his skin. He tried to concentrate on her smell, the fragrance of herbs and grass combined with fresh sweat. He tried to concentrate on her taste as he kissed her sternum. He tried to perceive as much of this situation as possible, but with her on his lap, her messy blond hair falling over her back, her adorable warmth so close to him, he couldn’t think clear. And quite frankly, he didn’t want to. All he wanted now was her. And from her reactions, from the way she touched and kissed him, he knew that she wanted him, too. 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until now, every chapter has been from Lambert's pov. Since Vica has her own life and isn't only a chapter in Lambert's book I decided to include some chapters told from her pov. Her perspective could also be useful to understand some later parts of the story. I hope you enjoy it! As always, kudos, comments and criticism is highly appreciated. A big thank and shoutout to all of you who still read and enjoy this story. You make me incredibly happy!

Still in the pleasant state between sleeping and waking, Vica recalled the last night. Lambert’s unexpected return, their conversation over a bottle of booze and, most of all, the time they had shared between the sheets. Vica smiled. She had enjoyed every minute of it. Of course it hadn’t been like one of Dandelion’s sugarcoated ballads, all smooth and perfect right from the beginning. Neither had the stars shone upon them with favour while Vica and Lambert had purred terms of endearment in each others ears. In fact, it hadn’t been too romantic at all. Somewhat chaotic and clumsy in the beginning, as always with a new lover, it had taken a little while before they had found common ground. Between raw kisses and hasty touches Vica had yet somehow managed to show Lambert what she wanted. And, quite contrary to his usual behaviour, he had willingly complied, without demanding anything in return. But judging from his moans, his looks and the intensity of the kisses they had shared meanwhile and afterwards, Lambert did enjoy himself, too.

After breakfast she would ask him if he was up for a repeat. It was Saturday, so she didn’t have any lectures to attend. Besides, there were more important things than studying, she thought as the morning sunlight stroke her face. Stretching out, Vica hesitated. There was plenty of room next to her. Too much room. She opened her eyes and swallowed. Lambert wasn’t there.

It took most of her self-control to not just jump out of the bed and call for him. She took a deep breath and grabbed her clothes. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she searched for logical explanations for Lambert’s absence. Maybe he was out taking a piss. That would also explain the absence of his trousers and boots. While still fumbling with the lacing of her shirt, she dashed to her window, stumbling over several books. She couldn’t see him in the yard.

Vica bit her lip and left her room. She could go and see if he had changed rooms at some point. That wouldn’t be surprising, Lambert had made it obvious more than once that he valued his personal space. After another deep breath, she knocked on the guest room door. After some moments without a response, she opened the door. Looking around, the sinking feeling in her stomach grew stronger. His armour and his swords were also gone. Vica straightened herself. Alright. That still meant nothing. Maybe Lambert was downstairs, eating breakfast. And as a witcher, being on the alert was his normal state. So of course he had taken his gear and weapons with him. Better safe than sorry was a saying that went double for witchers, she mused. She swallowed, took a strand of hair between her fingers and twirled it.

She went down the stairs, concentrating on every single step in order not to trip and fall due to her nervousness. Dandelion’s voice filled the corridor, the story he shared only interrupted by Anneke’s laughter. Vica bit her lip. Before the feeling inside her could turn into unreasonable, gloomy thoughts, she straightened herself, smiled and entered the kitchen.

“Ah, there is the other lovebird!” Anneke exclaimed, her eyes shining.

Vica nodded. “G’morning, Anneke. Slept well?” Meanwhile all her attention was on Dandelion, who had stopped his story the moment Vica had entered the room and now gave her one of his rehearsed smiles. Broad, even, but not reaching his eyes.

The dark-haired woman sighed. “Of course not. Your suitor and you have been unfathomably noisy!”

“Likewise.”

“Oh no, Vica, this is absolutely unjust! Dandelion and me haven’t seen each other in ages, of course we had some catching up to do! Besides, we haven’t been nearly as loud as you and your witcher.” Anneke brushed a curl from her face and took a sip from her mug. “Whatever. Why don’t you sit down with a nice helping of porridge and tell us what exactly happened with your gallant and why he left at such an indecent early hour?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Rubbish! After a night full of love,” Anneke paused, “or whatever a witcher’s equivalent is, everybody would be hungry!”

Vica shook her head.“Not me.” She sat down and smiled at the other bard. “G’morning, Dandelion. You’re oddly quiet since I came in.”

Anneke glared at her. “Don’t ignore me!”

“I don’t,” Vica smiled, “but after a night full of a witcher’s equivalent of love, I need to collect myself at first. And judging from Dandelion’s expression,” she eyed the man towards her, “he has a story up his sleeve that would be immensely useful with that task.”

The bard cleared his throat. “Vica, it’s such a joy to see you.” His smile had nearly reached his ears by now. “As my lovely peach stated, you should eat something. You need all the energy you can get with a day full of hard intellectual work in front of you. Besides, the apples in that porridge are simply delicious.”

“Dandelion, I live here, so it should come as no surprise to meet me every now and then.”

“Of course, my dear, but it’s a delight nonetheless.”

Anneke sighed. “Dandelion, Vica’s not one of your customers you have to flatter. Aside from that, when you are here, I should be the center of your attention.”

“But you are, my sweet peach,” Dandelion said in his best honeyed voice as he put his arm around the woman beside him. It required most of Vica’s self-control not to roll her eyes.

After giving her lover a content smile, Anneke faced her roommate. “I guess that’s been enough time to collect yourself. What exactly happened between you and that witcher?” But before Vica could come up with a slightly reasonable answer, the female bard shook her head. “You see, I thought this whole matter over. As you know, I’ve quite some expertise in the subject of love, due to professional reasons.”

Vica raised an eyebrow, while Dandelion’s smile slowly faded.

“And, my dear Vica, let me tell you, the behaviour of your witcher doesn’t make any sense in a normal context. And since Dandelion refuses to tell me why exactly he took off, I had to draw up my own conclusions.” She gave her a challenging look.

“Go ahead,” Vica sighed, her eyes still on Dandelion, who seemed to have found something particularly interesting in the porridge bowl in front of him.

“Either you’ve scared him away, which would be an achievement in itself, I guess he has faced some truly horrible things, being a witcher and all...”

“Thank you,” Vica snorted.

Anneke bent forward and eyed her roommate. “Nevermind. The other option is that you infatuated him so much that he wanted to go for a second round and needed some adjuvants to fully meet your needs again.” She pursed her lips. “Although...It is said that witchers have an exceptional stamina, so they wouldn’t need any help with that. And he left some hours ago, so...” She shook her head. Suddenly, she found her smile again. “Maybe he knows a merchant in Novigrad who offers some special substances. Ha! What if he doesn’t need help with his virility but wants to get some mind-expanding herbs?”

Dandelion had lowered his spoon and looked at Anneke as if he doubted her sanity. Vica couldn’t blame him for it. Her roommate’s ideas didn’t make any sense at all.

“For real?” Vica shook her head. “Why on earth should he go for a three day’s ride to Novigrad when he could get Fisstech at every turn in Oxenfurt?”

The female bard crossed her arms in front of her. “I just tried to help. But you know what? If you treated him with the same know-it-all-manner as you do me, it’s no wonder he took his heels.”

Blushing, Vica searched for the right words. “Anneke, I...”

“My ladies, it would be a shame if you would waste this marvellous day arguing with each other.” Dandelion had found his fake smile again.

“I am not the one arguing,” Anneke snorted. “And after all, Vica and I wouldn’t have this discussion if you’d simply tell what he said to you before he left.”

Vica exchanged glances with Dandelion before she shook her head. “Never mind, Anneke. I’m sorry. But in a working relationship,” she gave her a little smile, “it’s important to give your partner enough freedom. If Dandelion doesn’t want to talk about it, you shouldn’t pressure him.”

Dandelion breathed a sigh of relief, whereas Anneke rolled her eyes. “For your non-existent experiences with real relationships you know an awful lot of boring advice. Thought you didn’t believe in love?”

“But you do.”

Her roommate groaned. “Anyway, it’s incredibly rude of your witcher to disturb other people’s sleep – and he has been loud, don’t deny it! - and then to simply vanish!” She squeezed her eyes. “Or did he tell you where he went? Ha! That would explain why you’re so uninterested in Dandelion’s story! Vica, I am one of your best friends and your roommate! So you have a moral obligation to tell me the story behind his disappearance.” She smiled. “That would be a great title for a ballad, by the way.” She let her gaze wander through the room. “’Arrival and disappearance – a stranger’s story’”.

Dandelion gave a little cough. “That sounds lovely, but don’t you think that Vica should have some say in it since she’ll appear in that ballad?”

“Quite so,” Vica sighed. “Anneke, what I told you about personal freedom also goes for friendships.” She got up and smiled at her friends. “Have a nice day!”

Dandelion frowned. “Where are you going?”

“University.”

“There are no lectures at the weekend,” Anneke stated.

“No, but the animals in the Vivarium are hungry anyway.”

The dark-haired women shook her head. “Yet another reason not to study anything animal-related.”

Since there was no point discussing with the female bard, Vica grabbed a knife from the worktop, put it in her pocket and left the kitchen without an answer. She headed straight up to the little shed in the backyard that served as Troublemaker’s shelter. She would have loved to let him sleep in her room, but geese weren’t house-trained.

Vica closed her eyes, enjoyed the wind blowing through her hair and the already warming sun on her skin. Dandelion had been right, the day was beautiful. It would be even nicer if she could clear her thoughts. After a last deep breath, she began their morning ritual. She knelt down and tapped her right thigh. “Troublemaker? Come here.” As usual, the gander looked out of his shed and waddled towards Vica, flapping his wings and honking. She smiled and hugged the goose. “You’re the best.”

After letting her pet him, the gander nibbled at her shoulder. Vica laughed. “Alright, you’re hungry. Let’s see what we have for you.” After following Troublemaker into the shed, she stood on tiptoe and reached for a bag on top of a shelf. With some effort she managed to pull out two apples. She fumbled the knife from her pocket, cut the apples and knelt down to feed the slices to Troublemaker. Visibly glad about the attention, the gander honked again and gulped down his breakfast.

“Good boy,” Vica smiled as she patted his head. “And now you’ll eat grass for the rest of the day, just as good geese do.”

Gently biting her sleeve, the gander left his shed. Vica gazed after him, tidied up the shed and stepped outside. Under the big beech in the middle of the yard sat Dandelion, parchment and quill in his hand. Vica hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and went to him. As he heard her footsteps, the bard turned around and smiled at her. This time it was an honest, warm smile.

“Would you like to keep me company?” He said, tapping the ground beside him.

Vica sat down cross-legged. “Working on that ballad Anneke mentioned?”

“Perish the thought!” The bard shook his head. “The title alone would scare most of the potential audience away. Besides, I wouldn’t write something my friends disapprove.”

“So your friend Geralt of Rivia approved of every little rhyme you mentioned him in?”

“Most certainly, since I always represent him in the best light!”

Vica smiled. “It’s good publicity for him, yes.”

Dandelion nodded. He put parchment and quill aside and eyed Vica. “How are you?”

“Fine.” As Dandelion raised one eyebrow, she bit her lip. “May I ask you why you didn’t tell Anneke what Lambert said to you before he left?”

The man let his gaze wander. “Because curiosity killed the cat.”

“Dandelion.”

“In fact, he didn’t say all that much and it was most definitely nothing of interest.”

“Dandelion...”

“By the way, I saw Troublemaker roaming the yard. Aren’t you afraid that he’ll get hurt? Or eaten?”

“Julian!” Vica glared at him. “I am no child! Could you please tell me the truth?”

By mentioning his real name the bard flinched. “Fine, then!" He raised his hands. "Being your friend I just wanted to spare you the details, but here you go.”

Vica swallowed and put her hands on her thighs.

“Shortly after sunrise, I went to the kitchen because I was tormented with thirst. After I had drunk some wine, I heard steps on the stairs. Heavy, hurried steps. Being the curious man I am, I went into the hallway and saw Lambert running down the stairs. Yes, he was running, his hair messy, his armour in disarray, looking as if the devil himself was after him. I deemed his behaviour rather strange, because as Anneke had stated, not too long before he had sounded very content, downright happy.” The bard shook his head. “Anyway, I confronted him and asked what happened. He became very angry – nothing new, he has those quarrelsome tendencies– and told me to piss off before he’d punch my face into the wall.”

Vica frowned. “But that...doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not to mention that it was unbelievably rude!” Dandelion shook his head. “Well, my curiosity and, may I say, my loyalty for you got the better of me, so I asked him again. He glared at me with his amber cat eyes, which was quite impressive, and hissed that you’re a horrible witch and that he had to go before you’d take his last bit of sanity. Oh, and that you and me and Anneke...well I think he meant her, he said “your high-pitched slut”, which was another really rude statement, should go fuck ourselves and that he’ll never come back to that shithole of a city.” Dandelion cleared his throat and put his hand on Vica’s arm. “You see, I just wanted to protect you.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but...I still don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.” The bard used his free hand to scratch his beard. “But sometimes men don’t make the most consistent decisions. And you never know how a witcher’s brain works after a night full of romance. Well, my friend Geralt, who was trained at the same school as Lambert, thus having undergone the exact same mutations as him, usually doesn’t stay the night either. Mind you, he often leaves a flower or some sweets but basically, their behaviour is the same.”

“Seems so,” Vica said absent-mindedly, still trying to figure out why exactly Lambert had run away like this. Before she had fallen asleep, he had kissed her. He even had covered them both with her blanket, making it necessary for him to snuggle up to her. If he had wanted to leave so badly he could just have done it. She shook her head. It still didn’t make any sense.

“See,” Dandelion said, “I knew the truth would hurt you.”

“I am not hurt. I just don’t understand.”

“That’s how this world works sometimes. But I assure you that you are not the one to blame.”

“Of course not. That’s why he said I should go fuck myself.”

The bard sighed. “Well, there is one thing I also don’t understand, Vica.”

She gave him an asking glance. “What?”

“I understand that you’re upset he left you in that particular manner. But you seem sad that he left at all. And this is quite strange, because just yesterday you told me that you don’t believe in love, so it doesn’t really matter, does it? Other men will come, the academy’s full of nice, good-looking and well-behaved lads who wouldn't be opposed to having some fun with you.”

She stared at him, lost for words. “I...I am not sad that he left. But...” she cleared her throat, “there are numerous things in between being in love and running away without an explanation after having sex.”

“I see,” Dandelion eyed her.

Withstanding his gaze, Vica stood up. “I’m late. After feeding the animals I’ll go to the library, I have an essay due next week.”

“But you will come see me tonight? I’ll perform the ballad of the Werewolf of Ard Skellig, if you like. For old time’s sake,” the bard winked at her.

“How could I refuse this tempting offer?” She smiled at him. “I’ll be there.”

Dandelion nodded, opened a sachet hanging from his belt, pulled out an apple and threw it to Vica.

Nearly missing it, she gave her friend a questioning look.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Vica smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And now off to your Vivarium, it would be a shame if your animals would go hungry on such a gorgeous day.”

With a last smile, Vica took the path to the testing grounds. She still didn’t know what was behind Lambert’s strange demeanour. Perhaps there was a rational reason. Or maybe it was as simple as he had stated the night before, maybe he was just an asshole. She couldn't tell right now. The only thing Vica knew for sure was that she‘d head to the university’s bathhouse after feeding the animals. She felt the urgent need to wash off the remnants of the night before.

 


End file.
